


Wicked dance

by pirripipi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Flashbacks, From Childhood to Adulthood, Happy Ending, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, angst but not much really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirripipi/pseuds/pirripipi
Summary: The kingdom of Heaven and the kingdom of Hell have been at war with each other more times than all of the rest of the lands combined. Mostly due to the fact they hate each other.Therefore when the wedding of the century is announced. An union meant to bring peace. An arranged marriage between Crowley, the youngest heir of Hell, and Aziraphale, the youngest prince of Heaven… they know something is just not right.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

There are many kingdoms in the world. They weren’t kingdoms per se [1], most of them were Unitary parliamentary republics or Federal semi-direct democracies under a multi-party parliamentary directorial republic with a couple of Unitary parliamentary constitutional monarchies sprinkled around. 

But since the two lead lands of this story were still kingdoms, the only ones left, and they didn’t care much about what the other lands wanted, kingdoms we’ll call all of them.

The kingdom of Heaven and the kingdom of Hell have been at war with each other more times than all of the rest of the democratic lands combined. Mostly due to the fact they hated each other.

In this specific time in history the last Greatest War between Heaven and Hell ended almost seven thousand years ago[2] and the kingdoms were in their last states of recovery before the next Greater War was meant to happen. Common folk were getting wary, shelters were being built. Soldiers were being trained intensely. Spies were positioning themselves, information was being gathered.

And conspiracies were taking place.

▼○▼○▼

In the Throne room of Hell, a small dark cramped room with no resemblance with any throne room that has ever existed through history, aside for the throne it holds up one feet over the floor in a pedestal of concrete, Beelzebub and their flies were thinking. They were the oldest heir to the throne, the sharpes, most collected of all their brothers. They were not someone you'd like to make an enemy of.

The things they were thinking about were important things [3], the only two thing they seem to think about these days. War and Marriage.

Marriage and marry first, a right no one of his brothers would dare to take from them, to rule Hell.

War and commanding through gore and glory.

▼○▼○▼

Kingdoms are not always like it's people. 

The kingdom of Heaven and Hell hated each other. The people of Heaven and Hell didn't. They didn't care much about each other, not many have had the chance to travel to the other land. They have enough to worry about as it is, lives to life and things to do. But they thought the others couldn't be much different.

The kingdom of Heaven and Hell hated each other. The people of Heaven and Hell thought that they all were pretty similar at their core.

What all this meant was that war could not be simply declared out of the blue.

Especially when the ones declaring it[4] were not the ones that were going to fight it and the ones that were to fight it[5] where the ones that later on may not be very happy about the mess war will bring.

That’s what conspiracies were for.

▼○▼○▼

In the Conference Room of Heaven, a brilliant grandiloquent room carved out of marble and glass with roofs higher than the sky and a throne as magnificent, three of the four princes of Heaven talk to each other behind closed doors. They are standing closer than usual and their voices are low. If it just so happens that the noise is not loud enough to leave the room, well, that’s just too bad.

There’s papers over the table written in different handwriting by different people, no one present. 

Under the papers there’s a world map and by the map a calendar. 

Uriel, The Second Youngest sibling, stands firm and painfully straight [6]. Their usual look of apathetic displeasure changed for real displeasure. 

"Marrying him before neither of us seems risky to me." They say, voice even, hands held in front of them.

Gabriel, The Oldest, was, as the rest of his siblings, standing. His smile was strained, not only because that's how all his smiles were, but because they have gone over the plan[7] three times already and the same disagreement kept arising every time, no matter how confidently he repeated himself over a over again. He was, as to say, about to lose his cool.

"He will not marry, Uriel.” He was especially confident about that bit, that was the important bit, and he wouldn’t have thought the plan if that weren’t the case.

"Besides, marrying any of us first would be a death sentence once the war is over." Michael, The Second Oldest, and currently Gabriel’s favourite sibling, said. "Making us kings gives us direct responsibility in the eyes of the people, taking advantage of the regent council brings the responsibility back to the offender." She hasn’t once in her life lost a chess match and you could tell by the way she held herself.

"There's still the possibility that he'll marry." Uriel insists. They have never left anything to chance, even if the chance to their eyes was _infinitesimal._

And the cycle repeats. And Gabriel’s smile gets a tad more strained until his lips threaten to snap. His cool breaks first.

"Oh, please, he won't!” He says as if he just heard a joke so ridiculous he is angry he ever felt like laughing. “I’s _Aziraphale_ who we are talking about.” The way the name was said was a mockery of it’s usual, more respectful sounding. “He can’t get a lunch proposal without stuttering and having to excuse himself.”

"And if he does marry" adds Michael "He'll be still manageable enough.”

“So far his fiance won't be too difficult". Points Uriel.

"Then I think I know the perfect candidate." The smile that comes to Michael is the smile of someone that has gotten their information by very complicated very illegal ways and would love to talk about it if it weren’t for the very illegal ways they got it.

"Would the other side agree?" Uriel was already doing the math in their head.

"Oh give them some credit, they would have not been our enemies for so long if they didn't have a bit of intelligence on them." Gabriel says and the meeting is over.

▼○▼○▼

Kingdoms are very much like their rulers and if their rulers want war, war they'll have.

▼○▼○▼

In the throne room of Hell three of the four heirs sit side by side. Their oldest brother towering over them in their throne.

There’s one single letter over the table, illuminated by a desk lamp that flickers randomly at will. The letter is written on crisp white paper, a now broken coat of arms sealed it. The paper may smell of lavender. The three sibling may want to puke.

The letter is a marriage proposal.

“That’s…” Ligur, second youngest heir, sais as his lizard, who was as much a part of him as Beelzebub flies where of them, had a very hard time fighting it’s primal instincts. It was hungry. “Unexpected.” He was a man that wouldn’t trust his own shadow and you could tell in the way he talked.

“Unorthodox.” Said Beelzebub, who was not afraid for his flies in the slightest, they have one arm resting over the armrest and their body tilted to the left. They were pensive.

"They are planning something." Hastur, the second oldest heir, wasn’t the brightest of them all. He was the loyalest, the most loudly avocate of the soon to happen war. He knew, albeit not so well, a couple of foreign languages.

" _Of course_ they are _planning_ something" Beelzebub and their flies buzzed. "They are planning they same as we are. The same we have planned over and over again."

"With marriage?" Hastur asked, as said before he wasn’t the brightest.

"We should just declare them war over this insult." Ligur said. He has been very well know for trying to start a war out of every little situation. It has not worked for him to this day but there’s never harm in trying.

“It’s not good enough of a reason.” Beelzebub said. “We’ll have our war and then the people will have our heads just as they did on Rión[8].

"Then what?" Asks Ligur, low and threatening, they way he usually talks.

"You can't be thinking on accepting." Says Hastur "He'll be running out of the door even before setting foot on the aisle." 

"He'll make a fool of himself. And us." Ligur agrees.

"I know.” Beelzebub doesn’t say anymore for a bit, their flies talk for him but no one of their brothers know yet how to understand them, so the room gets filled by unintelligible buzzing while the loose ends of their plan get sorted out. “A offense big enough to start the fight."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in.

"And when the ppl will come asking for the responsible-" Now that Hastur has cached up he is all ill intentioned smiles and excitement.

"We'll give them his head tied with a ribbon." Ligur finishes.

"Sacrifices are always needed in times of war" Beelzebub deadpans.

"And some sacrifices are easier to make than others." The glee on Ligur’s voice should say all there’s needed to know about his love towards his remaining little brother.

▼○▼○▼

Aziraphale, he who his brothers talked so harshly about, was The Youngest of the family, born years before their parents passed away leaving the kingdom to be ruled by a council of advisors until any of the siblings decided to marry. 

He had a strong desire to serve, burned into him since very young, stronger than his desire to be left alone and unbothered, and a weakness for hedonism. 

"Gabriel. Michael. Uriel.” He greets them as he enters the meeting room, an uncertain smile in his lips. He has been called upon last minute, despite his siblings having this planed days ahead, and he was a bit breathless. He was also a bit frantic, but that was just his usual behavior around his siblings. “What's the meaning of this meeting?"

"Wonderful news" says Gabriel, who claps firmly his hands in front of him and smiles with something almost genuine. It was also something almost cruel.

"Wonderful news?" Says Aziraphale dubious but hopeful. "Please do tell, What about?"

"Marriage!" He un-claps his hands, straightes and opens his eyes wide in a way that is meant to mean _surprise!._

"Marriage?" Aziraphale can only repeat, much less enthusiastic and much more confused than his brother.

"Yes, your marriage, Aziraphale." Says Michael, serious and pleased with herself.

Usually Aziraphale looked like a man that would be found on a armchair with a book in his hands and a cup of tea by his side. He had in fact read all by himself more books than all his siblings combined, but he prefered cocoa. His knowledge was extensive and usually impractical. 

Right at this moment, thought, he looked like a well used white sheet.

"Ma... marriage." He repeats again in the smallest voice. "I beg you pardon?" The room sparkles with the same feeling people feel while watching other people on a prank show[9]. Gabriel smile remains the same but his eyes glint. Michael has a small smile herself. Uriel is unperturbed.

"Yes, your marriage, dear brother." Says Uriel. "With the youngest heir of Hell."

They allow a moment for their words to sink in, expecting despair to consume Aziraphale, yet he can't feel nothing but confusion. If they knew him maybe they could have told the difference.

"But I thought we were..." Hereditary enemies. At the brink of war. "Not on speaking terms with them at the moment."

"Yes!" Gabriel clapped again and beamed like Aziraphale were a very slow kid that finally got something right. "That's what the wedding is for. It'll bond our kingdoms, will guide us towards the path of... Peace and understanding and all those things you always talk about. Aren't you happy? It's thanks to your constant effort that we got the idea" 

Aziraphale says nothing. He is having trouble understanding reality at the moment. Then he speaks.

"I..." He looks around for a way out, which his siblings expected, then quickly corrects himself "Yes! Yes, of course, if that will bring peace to the kingdom I'll…" He deflates. " I'll Marry... " Before he can continue he is interrupted by Gabriel. 

"Perfect!" He says "You are dismissed."

"Wait! When... When this... _Union_ will happen."

"We'll inform you when a date has been accorded" says Michael.

"Soon." Adds Uriel.

They dismiss him one more time.

▼○▼○▼ 

Crowley has always found himself... Lacking.

He was the youngest heir to the throne of Hell, born so close to his parents passing he has no memory of them whatsoever.

He liked to sleep around, and drive around and dress in black fashion forward outfits that not always managed to be fashionable. Only of one of this three things were his siblings aware of.

Being the one off was to Crowley as much a feeling as a personality trait.

There are many things for the heirs of Hell to do, most of them consisting on bossing people around and training on the sparring arena. Beelzebub did other more important things but that's what you get for being the unofficial future Ruler.

Crowley was quite good at the bossing around part, but has not been on the arena since he learned how to slither out of a fight, never to be found soon.

Keeping an eye on the common folk and an ear on the court of hell[10] were things that the heirs were not supposed to do but that Crowley did anyway. He thought it gave him an advantage against his siblings whereabouts.

When he is told he is meant to marry, the same morning Aziraphale is told [11], he realised it apparently does not.

He barely waits until he is dismissed to almost run into the labyrinth that were the the wild unkempt castle gardens. He is dirtying his dress and freezing his toes but he doesn't care much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is a bit short and slow because is mostly worldbuilding, but get ready for kid Crowley and kid Aziraphale on the next one :D
> 
> 1-{They didn’t even liked to be called kingdoms}back
> 
> 2-{which is hardly twice the life span of your average healthy person}back
> 
> 3-{paired with a bunch of unimportant ones that their flies were helping them out with}back
> 
> 4-|the rulers| back
> 
> 5-|the people|back
> 
> 6-{All of them stand firm and straight but they are the only one that does it painfully}back
> 
> 7-{the one he himself had thought and was very proud of}back
> 
> 8-{Used to be a kingdom at the time. Now is a Unitary parliamentary republic and very happy about it. It's still a bit embarrassed about its kingdom fase.}back
> 
> 9-{Who have not been invented yet in this world}.back
> 
> 10-{a vicious one}back
> 
> 11-{either by chance or by careful planning}back


	2. Chapter 2

In the beginning there wasn't a room.

In the beginning there was a garden, and it was beautiful. Placed on nowhere. Magnificent. Vibrant. Lively. Hidden away behind stone walls as tall as the tallest tree and a thousand theater boxes to behold what was inside. Above it, the blue dark starry sky.

From around the world the garden was visited, praised, observed but never entered. It could be reached from everywhere and nowhere, depending if the garden wanted to be seen or not. The paths towards it always moving, always hiding, always waiting in the most unexpected of places. The garden was young at heart and it liked to play.

It was also careless at times. And fussy. And it would like to mop at times. The garden was good at heart but sometimes it'd feel sad for no reason. It'd feel like being still for a while, for no special reason. Maybe it was a bit tired. 

It'd feel like turning to stone.

There were not more visits from that point on. The used-to-be garden didn't feel like being seen anymore. It's paths hidden and closed away. Frozen and cold.

For so long people stopped remembering there was a garden. For so long it stopped remembering it was a garden too.

In the beginning there wasn't a room. But now there is. Hidden away behind stone walls as tall as the tallest pillar, a thousand theater boxes to behold what's inside. Above it the dark blue crystal ceiling with thousands of bright spots among it.

It's pillars that reminded of Palm trees were Palm trees that reminded of pillars. It's rainbow coloured windows were the light through the leaves at sunset.

It's mosaic floor was grass, flat and frozen yet not a bit less verdant.

The crystal clear spots, dew.

It was a garden and it was a room and in both cases it was breathtaking. It also used to be empty.

▼○▼○▼

The room Crowley comes into is not an empty room. 

Looking down from the box he came out from, placed among the stone plants as best as they could fit, there's an tartan armchair and a black and golden throne.

A cream colored sofa in front of them and a lamp that charges with sunlight [1]

Plants, real fresh plants, sit around the room, lost around their stone friends. They are the only ones that know about the stone plants, know that they are alive and happy.

Bookshelves, short and sturdy, filled with books upon books organized in a way that to anyone would have been chaotic.

There's more to the room. More furniture Crowley doesn't bother to acknowledge. He brought most of that stuff there himself. He knows where is everything.

The box he came from is illuminated, as are some more¡ around the room. It also has a rope ladder. 

He turns into a snake. He slides down. He's tired of being a person for the meantime.

In the armchair there's a figure and the figure is fidgeting with the book on his lap.

He goes towards the throne silently and circles around it. Only when he has climbed it up almost completely the figure notice.

"Crowley!" He must have been startled, but it only takes a look at Crowley's chosen form for Aziraphale to piece two and two together. "Oh, dear, I see you've heard the news as well." 

Crowley nodded but made no movement to change back. He laid his body on the throne and his head over Aziraphale's book. That is to say, on his lap.

"I'll give you some time then, but we need to talk about this." 

He didn't even noded this time. He closed his eyes and napped.

* * *

It was autumn. Aziraphale was 155 years old [2] , he has held a sword for the first time ever and has decided not to be of his liking. He has let it fall to the floor and made a face.

Gabriel, his oldest sibling by many years, has decided that that is not the correct opinion.

Crowley was 152 years old [3], he has just discovered how to turn into a snake and has felt immensely proud of himself. He has slithered towards the throne room and curled up high around a pillar. Hastur, his second oldest brother by many years has considered it not the right way to spend his time in.

He would have cried and run off, but he was a snake, so he just slithered off.

▼○▼○▼

Aziraphale was told to be annoying for crying. Crowley to be weak. Neither of them though that about themselves but with time and dedication from his siblings they will learn to.

▼○▼○▼

Aziraphale runs to hide in his closet. He just wants to escape his siblings and be miserable in silence.

It's a massive old closet that's been there longer than his grandparents were alive. It went further deeper than anyone bothered to check, tuck inside the stone wall. 

He closes the doors behind him and in the dark he goes as deep as he dares. He is not making a noise even if he is having trouble breathing still.

When he hears Gabriel come into his room he recoils until he touches the wall. 

He is trying to get him to come out, calling his silly hiding childish. He knows he is going to be found out. That he is only making things worse for himself.

Then he feels a dent on the wall. 

He is confused about it, suspicious even, but Gabriel is getting closer to the closet and he needs an out.

So he searches blindy in the wall for another one, and grabs with boths hands. Then another one by his feet and like that he begins to climb. He doesn't climb for long, but way longer than what a five meters tall closet should allow. 

He fears Gabriel must have open the door, since there's soft clear light lighting the wall but he can't hear him anymore.

He reaches the ceiling.

He waits there for Gabriel to close the door and go find him somewhere else, but he doesn't. His arms are getting tired so he decides to climb down before his hands fail him and falls.

He reaches the floor at his second step down. It makes no sense. When he turns around there are no clothes. Or tall wood walls. Only stone and soft light. He doesn't know what to do.

From the other side he hears muffled crying. It's a young voice. He is scared and doesn't want to go out. But he also doesn't want to stay there forever. 

When pokes his head out there's a garden in front of him. Stone palm trees so high he can't appreciate the detail of their sculpted leaves. Theater boxes surrounding all of it. All dark except for the one by his side. 

It's too far away to jump towards it. And they are very high over the mosaic floor, but close enough he can see what's in it.

There's green blue light coming from it's entrance and a kid mopping on the floor. 

He is dressed in weird black clothes and has fiery long hair. 

"Are you okay?" Aziraphale asks him without even thinking on introducing himself.

The kid tenses and turns his back to him quickly, hiding himself even more than before. His shoulder are shaking slightly and his voice is watery when he says:

"I'm fine." In a very not fine voice. "Stop fooling around and go back to your job!" He seemed used to bark orders around, but Aziraphale was used to only follow his siblings and parents orders. And his tutors. And, well, the occasional guard. And the castle chef when he sneaks into the kitchen. But all of those were grown-ups and the kid was not.

"I don't have a job I'm a kid." Aziraphale says. "And I don't want to." 

"I don't care about what you want!" He yells still not turning. "Leave me alone!"

"Fine!" Aziraphale yells back, angry and remembering he was also sad. "You are very mean!" And he sits down with his back towards the kid.

▼○▼○▼

They moop together until they feel like they should go back. Azi is the first one to try to, but finds he is not sure how. Every time he goes into the light it just spits him back out. 

By the tenth time it happens a very annoyed other kid asks him:

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm searching for my way back." He says and comes in and out one more time.

The kid is now peeking out over the low stone wall, trying to see into Aziraphale's box.

"Have you tried walking into the light?" He asks. He has golden snake eyes and a aquiline nose.

"Of course I have tried that! It's not working." Aziraphale is frustrated and scared and huffs as he frowns at the light.

The kid goes into his own light too and disappears for long enough Aziraphale thinks he has found a way out and will never come back. Then he comes back.

"Mine doesn't work either." He proclaims.

For a moment they just stay silent. Aziraphale is the one who breaks it.

"What do we do then?" He asks.

"I guess we live here now."

"No, we don't!" He goes to say something else. Opens his mouth, frowns and closes it at lost of words. "Sorry, what was your name?"

"Crowley" He is back on leaning out over the low wall, dangerously balancing himself without much worry.

"Aziraphale." Says Aziraphale. "Did you climb a closet to get here too?"

"Nah. I fall down a hole." 

"You fall down a hole?"

"I was in the garden. And it was raining. And I was a snake and snakes don't have good eyesight." One of the things he said was a lie. The lie was that it wasn't raining, but that he was distracted as he slithered around the garden and too embarrassed to admit it.

"You can turn into a snake?" Aziraphale didn't catch on the lie.

"Uhum"

"That sounds amazing! Can I see?" 

There was nothing but wonder on Aziraphale's voice.

And Crowley, who has had no one yet to be interested on his snake shape being or any of his hobbies for that matter, blushed very much and quickly turned into a snake to cover it.

"Amazing!" Aziraphale stands on tiptoes out of pure delight, hands over the low wall as if he wanted to get to the other kid now snake. "Can you talk in this shape?" The snake, that was long and big and black and red and shiny, denies with his head. "Oh, that's a pity." He looks truly disappointed, like he really liked talking to Crowley. "It makes sense, I suppose. You are a very beautiful snake."

Crowley would have blushed more if he were human so he stayed snake.

Eventually they find their way back. When the urgency to return overcomes the need to stay. It's a bit of a tricky business, balancing those emotions, but they manage to master with time.

▼○▼○▼

Finding his way back to the hole shouldn't have been easy. It certainly would have not been easy to anyone more than a meter tall. Or with human flesh that could react to poison ivy.

This time when he falls into it he did it in human shape. 

He falls for minute. Until he stops falling and starts raising. It shouldn't be easy to tell in the darkness, but he feels when his hair stops hovering above his head, when his dress falls down. He reaches his highest point, and for an instant he is suspended among nothing, the soft light at his side the only indicator he has reached the place. 

He falls mere centimetres down and lands easily on his feet.

He is breathless. Everything is quiet.

The room has not changed at all. Not even a bit. Not even a stone.

He was in the same box as last time. Too high to venture down the green mosaic floors.

He was also alone.

He feared he would be.

There were not pillars close to where he was, not a chance to jump to the other boxes. Dangerously balancing himself over the low wall he tries to calculate the distance to the floor below. There's two rows of boxes down him and almost ten above. All of them eerie symmetrical. 

Is as he is making his own calculations, wondering if his snake body could reach that far down and if it would be safe, that he noticed a hole in the wall.

It's a small things, five centimetres in diameter tops, and it lies around two thirds up of the wall along similar others on a straight line. There carved carnations around them.

A rope could easily go through that hole, and with that though Crowley gets the perfect idea.

▼○▼○▼

He wanted to get right back next day. He had ideas to test and responsibilities to avoid. 

Yet he was still a prince, and he had things to be taught and duties to take care of. 

Also supplies were difficult to steal.

Is not until a week later that he can come back. By then there's energy vibrating through his cells.

Is the same room, the same box. But he is not alone. He feared he wouldn't.

"Hey." He greets. The other kid, Aziraphale, was standing on a stool, looking over the low wall with sheer concentration. He had a pair of chopper binoculars over his eyes and a journal balance over the wall.

When Crowley greets him he turns around with the speed and fear of someone that has been caught doing something they shouldn’t. He also knocks his journal over the wall and down into the mosaic floor below. He tries and fails to catch it.

"Oh no!" He exclaims with true sorrow. Then turns to Crowley. "Look what you made me do." He looks completely devastated.

"Don't blame me! You are the one that turned around like a mad man." 

The change from utter misery to complete indignation is so fast Crowley blinked and missed it.

"Well, I wasn't expecting company!” Aziraphale says.

"Who else could I have been?" It was stupid to think someone else will be there and he made sure it could be notice in his tone.

"I don't know." Aziraphale answers like someone who had in fact someone in mind but didn't wanted to say.

"Okay." Crawley chooses not to press. "That's a hell of a fall." He gestures towards the journal. "What were you doing."

"That's no one of your business." He replies defensively. Then looks back down at the journal, worry lines forming on his forehead despite how young he is. "Do you think it has survived the fall?"

"I guess so. It was like a book or something, right?" He is peeking over the wall like last time, still to much of his body dangling over the wall for it to be safe.

"Right." Aziraphale's voice is tight, like the thing were much more.

"Then it's probably fine." 

Aziraphale nods. He takes his stool from it's place at the front of the box to the corner, right in front of Crowley. There's a moment when Crowley can only see the top if his white curls before he steps on it.

He rests both arms over the wall as he asks:

"So what are you doing here?" 

Crowley's eyes twinkle with mischief as he rises his chin up ridiculously and with a grimace of pure indignation says:

"That's no one of your business." 

"I don't sound like that!" Aziraphale says, sounding exactly like Crowley did. He immediately blushes.

"Yes you do!"

He blushes even more. Equal parts embarrassed and offended. He seems like about to say something but then doesn't. 

"Fine. If I tell you what I was doing will you tell me what were you?"

It takes a moment for Crowley to decide. Deals must be made carefully and always in your favour. That he has been taught.

"Seems fair."

There's a solemn nod from Aziraphale, then nervous fidgeting and words told like a confession.

"I was writing how the room looked and how I got there. I wanted to see if I could find something similar in the library."

"Oh! That's pretty smart." At that Aziraphale preens. "I was going to built a ladder to get down there." And he raises a bit of the rope that was still coiled around his waist.

"That's a good idea as well." Aziraphale tells him and Crowley smiles. He looks more approachable when he smiles, nice even. "It could be dangerous, though, we don't know what's down there."

Crowley points as his binoculars while he says:

"Did you see something?" 

"Anything but stone. But I've not been here long." He looks back to the room, as to confirm what he just said. "Maybe I can watch out for you while you explore. Do you know how to build a rope ladder?"

"Oh sure, leave the dangerous bit to me."

"You said you were going to go down there anyway!"

"And no, I don't, but how difficult can it be? It's just some rope tied together."

"I think it's more difficult than that. You need special knots and the like."

"There's different types of knots?" 

"There are! I read book about them just the other day, in fact I think it said something about rope ladders. I could go find it and help you." The way Aziraphale brightens as he talks leaves Crowley a little bewildered, used as he is to mild disinterest, but does wonders on alighting his enthusiasm.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll wait here and get everything ready."

"Perfect." And without saying another word he turns and goes towards the light.

"Don't take long!" He calls after him but he is already gone.

Building a rope ladder turns to be a little more difficult than Crowley first thought but way easier than anyone would have guessed from the book's description. It also turned out to be way more fun with someone else's help. Crowley is not used to that.

When he goes down he finds nothing lurking around the room. The mosaic floor is fresh, almost humid, like the grass in the early morning, and the light that filter between the stone leaves is warm. He likes it down there. But he also would like not to be alone.

When he goes back up he brings with him Aziraphale's journal, even if the kid didn't ask him to search for it. 

In the court of Hell and among the royal family as well, to do something for another without anything to gain in your favor is seen as stupid.

He only realized what he had done when Aziraphale is thanking him from an endless distance, eyes wide, cheeks pink and the most sincere most bright smile thrown to his person. 

In his mind he tries to justify himself, say it was for the seek of allyship. 

He doesn't fully succeed.

* * *

  
  


"There's something wrong with this" It has taken a while for Crowley to go back to his human shape, and even now he was restless, pacing up and down the room in long powerful strides.

"I know dear" Aziraphale is serving himself a drink, there's a pit in his stomach and a small sense of nausea that makes him remain seated. "What explanation did they gave you?" He serves another drink for Crowley and waits until he comes back to his side, letting himself fall onto his throne, one leg over the armrest and his hand extended to pick the drink.

"Oh angel, they didn't need an explanation." He says and drinks half the cup. "You’ll marry Aziraphale. That's it."

"Did they tell you when?" Aziraphale drains half his cup too and the liquid has some trouble going down his throat.

"No. You?"

"No."

They fall silent for a moment.

"Did they tell you why?" Crowley asks. He has somewhat calmed down, finally accepting the weight of what is happening to them

"To ensure peace among our kingdoms." Aziraphale answers from the rim of his cup.

"Since when do they want to keep peace! They didn't last time I check! And I check constantly!" 

"I think is a great reason to marry. Bring peace to our kingdoms, fullfil-" Aziraphale jumps as Crowley stands fast as lightning. His cup doesn't fall but only because he is gripping it so tight the glass may break under his fingers.

"That's all this is to you angel?!" Crowley roars. "A duty to fulfill! A greater good to do! That's what we are to you!?"

_Of course not!_ He wants to say. _What's wrong with that!_ He wants to say too. In the end he says the worst he could have:

"We are rulers, Crowley! We have a duty towards our people!" 

"DUTY! Always about duty! You'll let your duties choke you and you'll thank them." Aziraphale grimaces at that, partly, only partly, because he fears it might be true. "Is our relationship a duty too, angel? A chance to get your kingdom WHAT?! FRAIL PEACE?" His insecurity has always been his downfall.

"DO YOU WANT WAR CROWLEY." Aziraphale exclaims when he could have just said no.

"OF COURSE I DON'T WANT WAR" Crowley exclaims back.

"Then why are you so defensive about this?! I thought you'll be..." And he can't say it. Can't say what he thought because he is beginning to think that maybe, maybe, he was wrong. "I can't be around you right now."

He feels sick. He stands up. He is going to leave.

"FINE!" Crowley says as he watches him leave. There's nothing else he could have said at this point. 

* * *

They explore the garden together. Go to every corner, examine every statue. On a memorable occasion Crowley tries to climb one of the pillars, slidering up and up in his snake form, only to has his plan frustrated by a fretting Aziraphale. He is sure he is not going to fall but he gets down anyway. He is not sure he likes the weird feeling it produces having someone worry so much about his well being.

The garden is not sure it enjoys the intrusion. It is not even sure why it let them in in the first place, sometimes it didn't really thinks things through.

Aziraphale writes in that journal of his until there's nothing left to write down.

They make themselves comfortable in the garden. Aziraphale sneaks cushions from his own room to lie around in the floor, blankets and coats from the wardrobe. Most of them go unnoticed but what goes noticed earns him an stern scolding, Gabriel disappointed tone will follow him the next days and leave him feeling weak and guilty.

Crowley brings him dessert to cheer him up, even if Aziraphale didn't tell him what happened. 

He also brings some wood toys, hoops, cards and drums and a flute.

There's an attempt to form a band. Aziraphale likes the flute and Crowley thinks that an instrument based of hitting something is bound to be cool. Being cool is very important to him.

They don't know how to play. And they can’t agree on what time of music they'll perform, so they decide to go each their own and mix them up. 

A week after their third rehearsal both the drums and the flute disappear in mysterious circumstances, never to be seen again.

They both bring candles and their scents fill the room. 

At the limit of the garden they discover a fountain on what used to be a waterfall.

It was a matter of time that they found the portals.

It was a rainy day on Crowley's kingdom. He comes soaking wet and miserable and Aziraphale is fussing over him in an instant to get him dry and warm. 

Aziraphale doesn't come as often as Crowley would like him to. Always busy with this or that duty, this or that class, this or that chore. 

Crowley thinks that neither a prince nor child should have to work that much and it'll be years yet for him to give up on bringing it up. But at the moment he is too cold to talk, and just wishes for a warmer far away place he could go with Aziraphale and never come back.

Then one of the dormant boxes burst to light. 

It'll take him years to make the connection of why it happened.

It scares both of them. Scares them enough that they don't go though it that day. Nor the next, because Aziraphale didn't got a chance to come that day and Crowley doesn't want to go alone. Five days since the portal opened they decide to go in. 

There's a bit of play chicken. A bit of arguing on who goes first before they decide to go side by side, heart beating fast.

It's a desert. The sun falls unforgiving over them and soon they are striping of their jackets. Well, Crowley does, Aziraphale tries to resist for a bit longer.

Behind them there's a corpse. The fossilized remains of a being bigger than the biggest building they have ever been in [4]. With dusty old ribs and no legs, just a tail. 

It must have been a fish, they realize with bewilderment. How a fish ended up in a dessert they won't know until much later on their lives. 

It has a skull twice the size of the biggest guard they've know and teeth their length. Just a look at it makes cold sweat go down their spines, a primitive kind of fear at the back of their heads telling them to run. They'll have to get inside that mouth again to go back home.

The light of the portal filters through the empty holes were they eyes should have been and makes it seen like it were alive.

They decide then and there they don't like the desert.

The sand shines under the light, so bright it's difficult to see ahead, but close to the corpse there's the remains of a city. They go there.

Low cubic buildings fill the streets. So perfectly built they look like they could have been only made by the cut of a hot gigant knife. The sand has not felt a scratch on the deep brown walls, but on the surface there’s still the remains of paint yet to be erased. The buildings have no windows, just tiny perfectly square holes all over their walls. It feels like a spying eye could be watching from any of them.

The silence is dense and suffocating and Crowley needs to break it before it consumes them.

"Can't believe someone would be so dumb to built anything in the middle of the desert."

Aziraphale breathes for the first time in a while. Then smiles weakly.

"Seems like a pretty dumb idea." He agrees

"I wonder how they'll bring water." 

There's no roads to follow or landmarks to admire, everything but the cubic buildings have been consumed by sand. Or maybe there were never there.

"Maybe they just waited until it rained?"

"I don't think it rains so much on the desert. Does it rain so much on the desert?" They both look up at the sky, waiting for it to do something.

Aziraphale shrugs. There's a noise that could be the wind picking strength and moving the sand around or could be something else entirely.

They don't like the desert. They decide to leave. Fast. They don't look back at the buildings, nor up at the empty holes of the monstrous being as they get into the light. They won't be back there in a long long time.

▼○▼○▼

The memory of the desert sits heavy on their minds and leaves an uneasy feeling that accompanies them for weeks since they return.

For a while Aziraphale avoids going back. Sits in his bed and stares down at the closet from hours at night. Wondering what could come out of it. What could have followed them back from that place. 

He sleeps poorly and performs poorly as well, his duties overwhelming him and his siblings disapproval not helping in the matter.

At least a week and a half goes by before Aziraphale returns, but Crowley doesn't notice. He is been force into the sparring arena since his arrival that dreadful evening, and even if his muscles ached and his whole body hurt it provided a distraction. It got his mind out of that noise that wants to haunt him at night and helps him fall asleep.

The garden misses them. It has grown fond of them over time and so when they come back it receives them with a present. A quiet way to ask them to not leave for so long again. To keep it company.

Two boxes light up, so high Aziraphale and Crowley could probably touch the ceiling it they were in them.

The garden intentions are good, they truly are, but the kids have no means to reach so high up yet. They are also still apprehensive.

They rather spend their time in the room. Playing around and settling their duties aside for a bit. They have late lunches together and play hide a seek. And cards. And ball games Aziraphale is remarkably good at. And unknown games Crowley comes up with and turn to be funnier than they first sounded. 

They spend time on their own there, alone, and time doing their own thing there, in each others company.

The garden turns into their shelter, their home away from home. Their home, period, on Crowley's mind. Who's soon spending as much time there as in his own kingdom.

The next portal that opens happens in one of the rare occasions Aziraphale is alone there. It's late at night. Very late at night. He has not been able to sleep and has grown bored of trying. He is not allowed to leave his room after dark, so he has come here.

It scares him out of his skin. Startles him so much he drops his book, one of the small collection he has began storing down there.

The box is at ground level and delicate pink light is coming from it. Behind him the piercing white light of the desert box frames him. His fear spikes, but the pink light looks so kind. He finds himself at lost of what to do.

"Did you open it?" Says someone by his side and Aziraphale screams, high pitched and from the top of his lungs. Crowley screams too, jumping in the air. The both scream like idiots, startle by each other, and if they were playing attention they could have seen the leaves of the garden shake very slight with badly contained laughter.

"Crowley!" He brings a hand to his heart, breathing hard. "I didn't hear you come."

"No shit!" He is still recovering. Aziraphale makes a face, he is still yet to get used to Crowley new hobby of swearing, but doesn't comment on it. He composes himself before answering:

"I'm not sure. I wasn't doing anything special. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" 

"Shouldn't you?" Another grimace and no one of them answer to the other. "Well, let's go in." Crowley says taking a step forward.

"Are you sure about that? We don't know what's at the other side." Yet he takes a step forward too. The garden waits at the metaphorical edge of its seat. Crowley shrugs.

"How bad can it be?" Neither of them dare to guess.

Side by side the go through the soft pink light and into the unknown.

▼○▼○▼

A meadow receives them. Green like they've never seen before. The starry night sky above their heads and fireflies lazily flying around the flowers. Crowley has never seen fireflies before, he itches to reach out and touch them, to find out if they are warm to the touch. 

There's sheeps sleeping around, unperturbed by their arrival, and farther away horses and cows. The smell is bad but the air is warm and they feel at peace.

Aziraphale tugs at Crowley to look up. The sky is beautiful, clearer than back at Hell's capital, were the street lanterns are always shining through the night. 

Crowley has seen the stars before. Has been watching them from his room's window since the days he was born. Has always liked the stars, present and constant when everything else isn't.

He has thought of them as his friends since the beginning and has been very careful to never let anybody know that. 

This stars are the same stars, even if they look different.

"We are far away." He says not taking his eyes from the sky.

Aziraphale has never seen fireflies before neither, but unlike Crowley he has read about them. Mesmerized as he is he turns to look back at Crowley, then up at the stars, then around him once again, just taking in the view. He holds Crowley's hand gently, feeling suddenly very small, very vulnerable.

Crowley doesn't let his hand go. They sit together on the soft grass, among the sheep, quiet on each other company until the sun begins to rise and they have to leave.

▼○▼○▼

Exploring together comes naturally after that.

Some time after the night at the meadow Crowley comes to the garden with a book in his arms, hold tight against his chest. Aziraphale has never seen him with a book before.

It's an old one. Thick and big and heavy. The covers are scratched and the pages faintly yellow and slightly bended. He puts it down over one of the cushions that cover the floor and motions Aziraphale to come close. When he opens it he does reverently, a delicacy Aziraphale has not seen him use on anything yet but will in time. He holds his breath, transfixed by what he sees. The book is a beauty and Aziraphale, who has had a fixation with books since he was old enough to hold one in his hands, can do nothing but marvel.

The universe. Illustrations so detailed of the night sky one could think their looking at it through a mirror. On different seasons on different points among the planet. Constellations taken apart and examined on detail. Celestial bodies Aziraphale didn't know even existed described in detail. Pages and pages of written information, of names and definitions and chemical components and physics. Aziraphale has never been one for astrophysics but doesn't need to to have his breath taken away.

Crowley strokes the book with care, doesn't look at Aziraphale at any moment, scared maybe to find uninterest in his face. Then he says:

"I thought maybe we could take the book with us, find out where are we really going." And his voice is quieter than usual, just a little bit unsure. 

Aziraphale doesn't answer right away. Needs a second to think.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Crowley." Crowley tense like he has been stung, and turns to Aziraphale only to find worry in his eyes. "What if something happens to it." Says pointing at the book. "What if it gets damaged, or lost, or destroyed. We can't take the risk." 

It's obvious to Aziraphale, to not let something so beautiful be destroyed, but it twists something inside Crowley. For years he has had to hide and guard that book, never thought he would have someone to look at something important to him and consider it worthy.

He plays it cool. His voice barely strangled.

"So what do we do?"

They think for a while. And then a while more, yet no idea seems to come to mind. They try to copy the books pages on Aziraphale's journal, so they can bring that with them, but neither of them are artists and the whole attempt ends being quite frustrating. 

Memorising the night sky is not a option, really, or at least neither of the two think they could manage. But Crowley has been looking up at the sky for years now, and he maybe not be able to memorize it but he can tell apart constellations, and polaris and that's what gives them the idea.

That night they go back to the meadow. Sit among the grass like last time and look up at the sky. Crowley finds Polaris and Aziraphale draws a big dot in the center of an empty page of his journal. Ursa minor next and he teaches Aziraphale how to schematically draw it down. 

It takes them hours that first time, but with every constellation positioned around it's sisters and Polaris they have a simplified map of the night sky. Then a sheep comes chew on the journal and Aziraphale has to fence to get it back. Crowley would help but he is occupied laughing.

As they consult with the book back at the garden they confirm what Crowley said that first night. They were far away.

▼○▼○▼

Something alights within them. Not instantly, not explosively, but it takes hold of his hearts and grows. A flame that tells them that there's more to the world than what they ever knew, more than they were o will ever be taught. It compels them to learn more, to see more, to know more. 

They make a friend of what's new and different. Find respect for what their upbringings tried to teach them was below them. Find excitement and compassion and ugly things and beautiful ones. Find people. Just people. Being the way people are.

Pride is a feeling the garden has only ever felt about itself. A lot of feelings has it only felt about itself. But as it sees its children grow and evolve and learn to fend by themselves, it feels pride and it feels good.

▼○▼○▼

In their kingdoms their absence doesn’t go unnoticed. 

In a way Crowley is lucky, except he is not. He is mostly left alone, ignored and abandoned, his siblings giving up on him long time ago. His punishments come arbitrary, mostly tied to Hastur’s and Lingur’s moods and he has learnt to avoid them with expertise.

Aziraphale is not lucky. He is not punished per se, not directly sent to his room or force to spend more time than usual in his lessons. They never tell him to do anything, he knows what is expected of him and he does it. It's a confusing feeling, the one of having to obey an order that has not been given, it leaves Aziraphale anxious and with no one to point fingers at. No one to rebel against, so he doesn't.

Gabriel scolds him. He doesn't yell, doesn't insult, just remind him of his duty and his silliness and his selfishness. By the end of each of them guilt eats him up from inside and he feels very small. 

Yet both Crowley and Aziraphale go back to the garden.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It's said It'll be the wedding of the century, if only for how unprecedented it is.

In the city of Deloto preparations begins to take place. Deloto was, and still is, and for centuries has been a border town, cut in half by both kingdoms since the very beginning. A massive stone wall cuts its center and it's easily the ugliest thing ever existing on earth. 

Relationship between each side of the city have been fluctuating across time. From good to bad to not so bad but not quite good. Sometimes the walls doors are open if guarded [5], others they are closed [6] . Word still gets over the wall somehow.

Each years there's a competition of throwing lances over the wall from one side to the other and see whos side can get them farther. Four jurys climb to the top of the wall, two from each side, to do the measurements and in the meantime they talk about this or that and how things are going at the other side.

The winner is given _The chalice of victory,_ that they get to keep until next year, a basket filled with wine and hard liquor and a letter from the city council admitting that the winning side wields superior honor, strength and focus. The chalice and basket is given but no one has ever gotten the letter. Maybe for the best.

That time though, the doors are open wide. Unguarded at first glance [7], to be a neutral territory for the wedding to take place. The ceremony will be in Heaven’s territory, the party will be in Hell’s, the consummation on whenever the married couple wants as long as their siblings don't have to spend even a _second_ thinking about _it_.

There's a feeling of hope in the air, in the way people smile at each other, in the willingness to make this happen. To finally, finally, accomplish long lasting _peace._

The promise of a wild party also helps lift spirits.

The more sceptical ones were readying their defenses with half a mind to have a blast with music and food. The smartest ones were looking on how to make a business out of this.

But as arrangements are made questions arose that no one seemed willing to answer.

_Where will the kings live? How will the kingdoms be managed? Should gifts be brought? How much does a front row cost? Will there be vegan options at the banquet? What will the other heirs do once their brother turns king? What's the dress code? Which brother the broom and broom were again? Isn’t Beelzebub already the monarch? I’m sure I went to his coronation._

Crowley and Aziraphale, main pieces of this whole game of chess, have not been allowed into any of the negotiations. Nor have they been allowed to make any relevant decision.

It should have clued them over, really, but they were in too much of a sour mood to pay attention.

Aziraphale was distracted, far far away. The usual troubled expression he wears around his siblings even more so since he was given the news. 

He would still try to find answers to some of the most important questions, the ones regarding their kingdoms management and banket menu, only to be told that preparations were being made and to be patient. There was no way his siblings could understand the true reason behind the apprehension in his eyes, but that only played on Aziraphale's favor.

Crowley was absent. Cranky and in a bad mood altogether. He disappears more times than not, to plan his running away route, his siblings assume. To blend among the people in reality, ears open to any kind of rumour that may arise. He knows better than to go directly to Beelzebub for answers. Not much comes out of it.

To whoever he crosses paths with he barks orders to.

Preparations are being made, only left to do is wait.

* * *

They grow together. And as they grow together they also grow apart. 

If you were to ask the garden what it though of Aziraphale and Crowley it'll tell you it though of them as beautiful complex kids but oh, so so different from each other.

It's not apparent at first. At first everything is new and exciting, they are two lonely kids that have found they don't have to be lonely anymore. They motivate each other to be better and they teach the other they deserve more.

They turn friends. Then best friends.

They explore together. They play together.

They are 261 [8] and each other sole confident and advisors.

They are also different. And the garden loves them for their differences but even it can understand than sooner or later their are bound to tear them apart.

What for one is exciting to the other is boring. What to one is fascinating to the other is repulsive. And teenagerhood only makes those differences more apparent, makes them seem more urgent and important as they both work around figuring who they are and what they want out of this world. 

And it seems that what they want is, also, different.

Crowley likes people, crowds and loud noises. Likes to mingle with the locals, no matter where he is, to find new places to visit, new things to do. He builds a diverse group of acquittances and friends wherever he goes, and keeps in touch with plenty of them when he leaves. Comes back to visit, comes back to talk, writes letter after letter to some select few who would eventually turn into confidents too.

  
  


Aziraphale likes people well enough, he is far from an hermit, but finds too much company too tiring to enjoy. Losing himself wherever he is, to observe the world around him, discover, at his own pace, that he loves more than anything. 

Well, maybe not anything, his books and the home they provide will always go first.

But exploring is nice. And company is nice too, just on small doses and with selected individuals he won't really allow to truly turn into friends.

Their interests crash often and when they do they turn sour towards each other. The want to be by each other side turns into an obligation. Their company oppressive. 

Aziraphale goes to parties he'd rather not. Meets people he is not interested in for the seek of Crowley.

Crowley goes to bookshops he'll rather not. Restaurants he doesn't care about.

They make each other miserable.

Aziraphale duties grow, a heavy weight over his shoulders he can't ever shake off.

Crowley vigilance takes an almost paranoid turn as his siblings dislike grows into something close to hate.

It alone would have been enough to break a lesser man.

They are 326 [9] and find themselves looking over their shoulders before escaping to the garden. 

The question hangs in the air. It's been hanging there for years now, but it hits Aziraphale in the middle of the biggest party in Cainel, Crowley off who knows where. 

_"How can we really be friends when we have so little in common."_

The sorrow that fills him after that realization accompanies him back to his kingdom, and his bed, and his dreams. That night he turns and turns in bed, chest hurting and tears pilling in his eyes. 

His 348 [10] birthday is around the corner and he is running out of time.

Talking to Crowley doesn't feel relieving. It feels messy and crude, and maybe it's because he is not telling the full truth, how could he. The world it's big and they are not kids anymore, they don't need to be together. 

Something like pain crosses Crowley features, brief and sharp. 

The next time they see each other in the garden he only acknowledges him with a curtly "Aziraphale." Before being of to Veenci.

Aziraphale has not right feeling the pang of hurt he feels going through his chest, he thinks.

Three days after he is called into the Conference Room and he knows he has made the right choice.

His 348 birthday is closer each day and The Oath has to be made.

▼○▼○▼

It's an honour, Aziraphale is told. We almost doubted you'll be up to task. 

It should hurt him, the lack of faith his siblings had on him, but he sees it as his own fault. Too careless of his duties, of his lessons, of his training. Too distracted with the garden. 

Too distracted with C- 

But he can't finish that last thought, can't make himself believe something he knows is not true. Can't make himself regret what was never regrettable to him.

So he ducks his head and bussyies himself with the book, not his books, the books he is meant to read, the books that'll teach him assist his siblings, help his kingdom. 

Practices the sword and attends all his meetings, and some meetings he is not meant to attend but neither forbidden to. 

And Gabriel speeches begin to sound more like praising. And Uriel nods with deference to him after sparring. 

And he forgets the garden. And he forgets Crowley. And a shallow hole forms where his happiness used to be, so slowly he can't clearly recall if it hasn't always been there.

On the week before The Oath. Two years after his 16 birthday. Seven years and two weeks after he was on the garden since the last time. He makes a choice. 

That night he goes into his closet.

▼○▼○▼

It's like no time has passed, and in a way it's true, at least for the garden. His books have not been moved, nor the chair he managed to sneak into there at the end of last decade and claimed as his. Nor his cushions or his lamp. It deepens the void in his chest and makes it hurt.

He drops the bag he brought with him on the floor and begins to pack. He doesn't get much packing done before Crowley comes out of one of the second floor portals and spots him. 

Aziraphale freezes. How much he would have wished not to meet today. Crowley approaches him.

"What are you doing?" He doesn't sound angry, just confused. He looks pleasantly tired like he always does when he is been partying out.

"I'm packing my books, crowley." Aziraphale doesn't look at him, doesn't stop putting his books away, he fears if he does his resolution will break.

"Why?" Is not loud, not accusatory, just lost and sad in a way Aziraphale knows Crowley never allows himself to sound. It breaks Aziraphale heart, but the truth will hurt them even more.

"Bc… bc I can't see you anymore!" He manages to say without his voice trembling, turns the pain into anger in a way he has never been able too. He stands tall and fixes Crowley with a look that dares him to question him. In other circumstances he may have been proud of himself.

What he forgets is that Crowley is used to anger, and used to answer to aggression with more aggression. His eyes widen and it seems like he wants to take a step back before his whole face changes and contorts. Venom in the arch of his lips.

"What do you mean you can't see me anymore!" He yells. "You disappear for seven years, not a word or a note or anything and now you tell me you can't see me anymore?!" He is breathing hard and gesticulating grotesquely.

"I mean I can't see you anymore, Crowley!" Aziraphale yells back, desperate. "This! Us! This is dangerous! More than dangerous! If any of our kingdoms find out-"

"They won't!" And Crowley is desperate now too. "So many years being friends and now you worry about that!? Is that why all this is about?!" He walks towards Aziraphale, arms stretched forward like a plea. "They won't find out, Angel, they won't. We are doing nothing wrong-"

"I have a duty towards my people!" Aziraphale yells to mask that he is breaking down inside and doing an amazing job of it. "Towards my kingdom! Maybe you take your responsibilities lightly, but I…" And he deflates for a moment, and he thinks of his siblings and wonders why is that he is doing all this. "I don't!"

"What the hell are you talking about!?"

"THE OATH, CROWLEY!" And everything falls silent, frozen in time much as the garden itself. Something breaks. It may be the tension, it may be trust. Then Aziraphale adds, softly, like some kind of secret. "I'm talking about The Oath."

Understanding reaches Crowley's features first, then fear, then pain. Finally betrayal, settled and without intentions of moving.

"You are going to sworn to destroy my people." 

The lack of feeling is worse than all the previous yelling. Aziraphale tries to defend himself.

"I'm going to sworn to defend my kingdom."

"IT'S ALL THE SAME." He doesn't sound as angry as he sounds desperate, it doesn't go unnoticed to any if them.

Silence is painful but there's nothing left to say. Nothing any of them can think of. Nothing that will make any of this fair or fine.

"Is that what you really want?" Crowley ask.

Aziraphale can't know how he looks, can't even know how he feels. He doubts. Has been doubting for long now, but he can't not say, can not put his doubts into words like somehow they will give them a choice. A way out. Like they'll make everything fair and fine.

He looks Crowley in the eyes and he doesn't need to see himself to know he is begging. For silence or forgiveness he is not quite sure.

"Yes, it is. It's my duty." His mouth says.

"Very well then." There may be tears in Crowley's eyes, there may not be, he has put his sunglasses on as soon as Aziraphale's words have left his mouth. "Go off! Don't mind me." And he moves to turn

"Crowley-"

"Take your books! And your cushions! And that stupidly bright lamp! I DIDN'T EVEN LIKED IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"All right then!" He leaves the half full bag in the floor, forgotten in his need to leave.

"ALL RIGHT THEM!" He watches Aziraphale walk away, but doesn't know how to stop it. Doesn't even know if he wants to. "And don't forget the shelfs! They crash with the aesthetic!"

But Aziraphale is already gone.

▼○▼○▼

He takes The Oath. 

With a knee on the floor and his flaming sword on his right hand. His head held down, eyes closed. The Conference Room is alight by sunrise, clear light with a lilac undertone. The kingdom is there. As much of the kingdom as can be fitted into the room, and even more people wait outside for the moment he'll be knighted to give his speech from the balcony.

Gabriel is in front of him. Michael to his right, Uriel to his left. They all look down at him, at their feet, and the mental imagine rises vile to Aziraphale's throat in a way he is not sure can be blamed on nerves. 

His heart is pounding and his breathing quiet but fast.

Gabriel has a speech prepared, he always has. He speaks to the room with easy and aplomb. Aziraphale is listening but not a word sticks to him. Michael goes next and Uriel last, in order of birth.

They may have spoken highly of him, proudly even. Then is his turn.

He raises his head and looks each one of his siblings in the eyes before fixing them on a undetermined point over Michael's left shoulder.

"I, Aziraphale, The Youngest, knee today in front of you, the people of heaven. 

Today I oath over my life for your protection. 

Never my path will turn against the greater good. Never my hand will tremble against doing what's right.

Today I willingly pledge myself as your servant, and as such I'll remain for as long as I remain in this land."

His head falls down again, almost defeated. He prepared the words weeks ago, secret even to his siblings by law. The Oath is a personal choice and as a personal choice the worlds must be chosen by him and him alone.

Luckily Aziraphale is a very well read individual. Luckily he knows how to choose his words.

His siblings nod, and bow in front of him. A scene so bizarre it won't leave his head for weeks. And then a circlet is carefully settled among his curls, silver disappearing among white, and The Oath has been taken.

The crowd cheers louder than he could have ever imagine, it reverberates in his heart and makes him wonder if all this is worth it after all. 

He stands. Walks towards the balcony, his siblings behind him. More cheering, a roar of applauses that goes through the crowd like a wave, and then silence. 

His mind is clear, clearer than it has been in a long while, and the words that leave his mouth this time are sincere and heartfelt. He stutters a bit. But as he goes back into the conference room and pays his respects to his siblings before leaving to prepare for that night celebrations, he thinks he should feel something aside from total, full body numbness.

▼○▼○▼

Aziraphale’s 457 [11] birthday comes and goes without making a noise. He has settled as head researcher and council advisor. His siblings may not think highly of it but there's no one that knows the library like him, nor has the single minded focus and patience to read and research for days to no end. It's an engaging job. A job he could even feel proud of if he were also allowed to do the advising bit.

The council of Heaven governs on its own until one of the heirs marries, having the royals only as advisors until then. 

But the council trusts the heirs. And his siblings don't fully trust him. And the council doesn't trust someone the royals don't, no matter that he is in all rights and purposes also a heir.

He tries to earn that trust, thought for a while that hard and diligent work would bring that to him, but his solutions challenge more often than not Heaven's traditional ways, and if there's something the kingdom of Heaven likes is it's traditions. 

He is stuck. Has been stuck for years now. Holding his place only by his research work alone. 

It's the second night in a row Aziraphale won't catch any sleep. He has four thick heavy books over the bedside table at his right, still to be read, two at the left, already readen, and one over his lap. His glasses keep falling down his nose and his eyes are beginning to burn, but there's no pause on the passage of pages, not a single sight that he would stop any time soon. 

There's been a dramatic decrease of fishes at the south of the kingdom, the only access to the sea they have. The news of this soon to be catastrophe reached them two weeks ago and since then Aziraphale has done nothing but researching, nothing but reading. He asked to be taken to the place itself, to see the damage with his own eyes, to listen to what the local fishermen thought of the event, but it was instantly denied. Royals were never to leave the capital.

Official letters were sent back to the south asking for details. Unofficial letters were sent from Aziraphale to ask for opinions. Neither will be coming back soon [12]. In the meantime he read, and searched, and made himself familiar with the fauna and flora at the Turbulent ocean. 

8 years ago the legal fishing area was increased to overcome a small decrease in fishes. He knows the overfishing that came with it is to blame. But that would also mean that the council made a mistake 8 years ago. They won't like to hear that. They will sent him to look for better suited reasons.

The thought if it brings such a strong frustration he needs to let the book down and stretch. And as he stretches he faces his closet. He stops.

Thousands of times he has faced his closet in the last 115 years. It shouldn't be different now. It shouldn't mean a thing. 

But it is. And the pang of nostalgia that crosses his chest feels like physical pain. And the book grows heavy in his lap. And he stands.

"It'll be just in and out." he tells himself. "Just a peek at how things are."

The climbing comes naturally to him. The change of lighting making his heart race with excitement, there's always been this tickling feeling every time he crosses a portal that time won't be able to erase.

Not much has changed. And yet everything feels different. Foreign in a way. Hurt. Somehow.

The garden doesn't move a branch as Aziraphale climbs down the leather rope. 

_"He didn't get rid of the shelves."_ is the first thing that Aziraphale thinks, once his feet hit the floor and he can look around. His lamp is still there and so is his chair. And his books. Maybe just as he left them or not he is not sure. The bag has been taken out of the way and emptied and everything put back on their rightful place in the shelves. He tries not to let his heart swell at that and fails. The garden observes.

He takes one at random, opens it with reverence, and tells himself he'll just flip through it standing there, but soon he gravitates back to his chair, turns on his lamps and reads. There's a small nostalgic smile in his face and a spark of light into the hole where his happiness used to be.

It lasts and instant before something like sadness and regret washes it out. Still, is not hollowness and so he ducks his head and focus on the reading.

_"It'll be just a moment."_ he tells himself. A moment that lasted hours. He doesn't hear a portal being walked through but he does hear someone approach.

"You are… here". Says Crowley as Aziraphale is raising his head. For a moment they can do nothing but stare at each other, and there must be something like guilt or fear in Aziraphale eyes for Crowley not to snarl at him yet.

He looks tired and disheveled, his hair is a mess, his cheeks rosy and his pajama wrinkled. His glasses,that he has wore since the beginning of their teen years, are not on him. He can see every emotion that crosses his eyes. 

He looks older too. And hopeful. And defensive. The garden understood the feelings quite well for he was mimeting them. So did Aziraphale, even if it was shocking to him.

Only then he notices the new massive bed that's been trucked at a far away corner of the garden, almost impossible to spot from where he is.

"Yes, I am." Aziraphale answers. "You see I… I don't know what I was thinking. I was in my room, it's not like I would change rooms of course, I like that room, it's been mine since forever, and I saw the closet and, mind you, I've seen that closet plenty of times but it was late at night and I've not been sleeping much lately and well." Crowley doesn't interrupt him. "You could say I was… worried about the books." He finishes looking at Crowley straight in the eyes with a smile that's all sadness. _"I was worried about you."_ He doesn't say but Crowley hears him nonetheless.

He walks towards his throne, still placed by his chair side, and collapses on it. 

"Did you do it?" He asks without looking at him. 

There's nothing Aziraphale could ever say that would make things better. So he takes a deep breath and turning his head says:

"I did." He sounds defeated and as tired as he feels, but a wave of panic pushes him to turn to Crowley to say something, anything. "Crowley-!"

"I understand." He sounds tired too. His voice has gotten deeper. The years have passed for him too. And as the responsibilities towards his kingdom began to pile, as the exigencies from his siblings grew, he began to understand Aziraphale better. Compassion was a quality his siblings tried to rip out of him, but you can truly rip someone off his nature. Or part of it.

It's an uneasy night filled with uneasy peace. The reminders of what they used to be, how they used to be with each other and what they are now painfully raw for both of them. Crowley turns in his throne. He throws a leg over one armrest, angles himself to basically lie across the seat, his head on his palm looking far away from Aziraphale. A wave of unadulterated fondless fills Aziraphale, followed close by nostalgia, and without thinking he says what he has meant to say from the moment he step foot back in the garden, maybe way way before that.

"I've missed you." He is not one to usually say this kind of thing. Not out loud.

Crowley jolts, turns towards him in a sharp move and locks eyes with him. Then relaxes and gifts Aziraphale with a small fond smile. His lungs fill with fresh air and relief when he says back at him, in the softest voice he has heard from him yet:

"I've missed you too."

Aziraphale can't stay much longer after that. And they don't get a chance to talk that night, too scared to break what just has began to heal. But he promises to come back soon. And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-{No Heaven nor Hell have ever seen that kind of technology. Mostly because they didn’t care to look at what the rest of the world was up to}back
> 
> 2-{Which means, for all intents and purposes, physically and mentally he was 8}back
> 
> 3-{7}back
> 
> 4-{And them both lived in castles}back
> 
> 5-{Rarely}back
> 
> 6-{Usually}back
> 
> 7-{And severely guarded at second}back
> 
> 8-{12}back
> 
> 9-{15}back
> 
> 10-{16}back
> 
> 11-{21}back
> 
> 12-{Heaven was yet to invent cars and therefore the means of transportation were precarious at best}back


	3. Chapter 3

_ Somewhere is storming. Mercilessly. So violently not a soul is out in the streets. Every window is closed. _

The garden is quiet. It's warm.

In it's armchair Aziraphale is reading a book. He has read it before, will probably read it again. 

With the wedding approaching it gets more difficult to find time for himself, time to hide away there at the garden. It doesn't help moch to his general mood.

There's movement to his right and a figure that walks down the stairs towards him. Slowly. Carefully. Aziraphale both wants him to come close and doesn't.

"Hey." Says Crowley from a feet away, standing in front of him.

Aziraphale takes his time to answer, leaves the book aside carefully and says:

"Hello Crowley."

_ Somewhere the sky is grey, the rain is pouring and the wind blows so wildly it threatens to knock down the trees. It's cold outside. _

"I do want to marry you." Crowley says. Unprompted. Like the words have been trapped in his throat for too long and couldn't wait one more second to get out.

It shocks Aziraphale, who just stares at him, without words.

"Crowley-" He begins. To say what, he is not sure.

"But I don't want to marry you because I'm told to." He walks closer, sits on the arm of the armchair, right by Aziraphale. He aches to rest a hand on Aziraphale's shoulders but doesn't.

"So it was all about rebellion then?" It should sound cold. It would have sounded cold, maybe even indignant, to anyone that didn't knew where to look for the underlying sadness.

"NO." It comes out angry, frustrated, desperate. Then soft. "Of course not, Angel, it was never about that."

_ Somewhere lighting lights the sky and almost instantly comes thunder. The smell of Ozone strong in the air.  _

Aziraphale turns to him and there's understanding in his expression. A hand comes to rest on his thigh. A smile appears in his lips. 

Finally Crowley relaxes. 

They talk about it, like they should have talked the first time. Crowley moves to his throne and sits incorrectly. Aziraphale offers his hand and Crowley takes it.

_ Somewhere the storm it's gone as quick as it came. Lighting and thunder parting ways. The air feels clean even if it's still cold.  _

"Be sincere with me dear," Aziraphale tells him before he has to go, the events of the previous days finally catching with him, making him tired. "it was a bit about rebellion." 

"It gave it a good taste." Crowley smiles and stands too. He is not going to leave, he'll sleep here.

"It did gave it a good taste." Aziraphale agrees. Both laugh quietly.

* * *

  
  


It's bad, at first. Uncomfortable and stiff, their hearts still too sore to be able to trust again. But time goes by. 

They don't travel together, Aziraphale barely travels at all, already stealing from his own free time to come up to the garden at all. They keep each other company. Aziraphale learns that Crowley likes to sleep in there now, will learn later that he doesn't feel save back a in Hell anymore. 

He guards him at night most of the time, it's the only time he can come, and Crowley will go to bed later than he would just to be around him for a bit.

They talk. Not much at first, much more later. It's like their friendship was a talent their brains never forgot how to perform. It's natural. It's good.

They grow once again. They are friends. And then best friends. And then something neither of them is ready to put a name to.

Aziraphale begins to travel. Not with Crowley, not at first, still trying to find his footing. He runs into old acquaintances. Ones that remember him. Once that are pleased to see him again. 

Some that are truly happy to see him again. That smile wide upon meeting, or pat him in the back, or hug him. That will invite him for a drink  _ eagerly _ and will want to know, truly know, how his life has been. 

Those are the one that leave him breathless, the ones that'll make him smile as wide and the shallow hole in his chest fill with something like gratitude. The ones that considered him a friend. The ones that he failed to realise they did.

How much time wasted, being blind to the people that loved him, not knowing how to reciprocate as they deserved.

He still doesn't know but he decides he will try.

There's something fragile between them as he begins to travel with Crowley once again. Both too much aware of their differences and how they tore them apart not long ago.

There's a single massive difference now, thought, that neither of them are aware just yet. Wherever they go, they don't expect the other to follow, but they hope to find them once they come back.

Suddenly the prospects of overcrowded parties or dusty bookshop sound way nicer when the possibility of saying no is freely on the table.

▼○▼○▼

On August 25 Crowley buys the Bentley. 

On August 28 he introduces it to Aziraphale. They are both 543 [1] and driver licenses have not been invented yet.

It was a beautiful machine like nothing Heaven or Hell had. All shiny and black. And  _ fast.  _ Aziraphale wasn't all that fond of that last quality, but was also very comfortable and it made Crowley's eyes shine with excitement.

They drove all the way down the coast line of Samil. The cliffs so high at times, it seemed as they were driving over the water itself. 

The day was sunny and the air was fresh. And as Crowley rode the windows down, music blasting off the speaker and out in the wind, Aziraphale laughed. Deep and unrulied. A laugh that came from his belly and made his chest feel full and light at the same time. A laugh of pure unrestrained glee. That resonated along his whole body in small sparks of joy. A laugh like he has not had in a very long time.

A laugh that Crowley joined him in.

By the time they reach the beach their throats are sore from singing [2], their cheeks flushed. The sun is setting. And they are ok.

○⭓○

It's always there. The Bentley. Whenever they go. Somehow. 

For as much as Aziraphale would like to know how he has never gotten a straight answer.

It sleeps in the garden and the garden is ok with it.

▼○▼○▼

They get drunk one night. They have gotten drunk before, at parties and banquets, but never in the garden.

It happened by accident, really. Aziraphale liked, every now and then, to read late at night with a glass of wine by his side. 

Michael is not a great fan of alcohol, he doesn't want to think what could have happened if she found even a single unopened bottle in his room. Therefore there's a small wine cabinet among the shelves. One Crowley had apparently no clue about.

When Crowley comes later than usual that night, shoulders up to his ears, rambling a mile per minute, Aziraphale offers him a glass with the sole intention to get him to relax.

"I don't get it!" Crowley tries to say but his words are slurred and his tongue keeps getting in the way. He has moved from the throne to the floor and is sprawled among old pillows and blankets they have not used since they were kids. "I don't get it." He repeats no more clearly at all. Dries his glass and begins to fill it again. There's a wine bottle already resting on the floor.

"Uhm." Answers Aziraphale. He is as well on the floor. Having as well the same problem getting his mouth to form words but he had given up on trying.

They are sitting side by side. Well, he is sitting, but that's hardly important. They are side by side and he can feel Crowley’s heat from where he is. 

They have been this close before, how did he never notice? 

He is holding his glass in one hand, the other moving around as he talks. He has a beautiful voice, even more when he lets it be this expressive.

He gets stuck in a word, or maybe it's a sentence, he moves his lips slower as if blowing a kiss to Aziraphale. He has beautiful lips, perfect to be kissed.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind he snaps out of it. Breathless and scared.

"Uhm?" He says as he realizes he doesn't know what Crowley was talking about.

But Crowley didn't hear him. Doesn't know what Aziraphale thoughts have been. And so he rises to a sitting position, and gets sick for a second, and his hand lands on Aziraphale's thigh for support. And Aziraphale's heart skips a beat.

He gets very close to Aziraphale. His eyes are glassy but so are Aziraphale's. His lips look soft and his breath smells of alcohol.

Then he moves to the right, and on Aziraphale's ear he whispers.

"I'm too drunk for this." Aziraphale doesn't know what this is but knows is not what he  wishes fears it was.

Then he rests his forehead against Aziraphale's shoulder, all tension gone from his body, still talking quietly, sleepily, and Aziraphale is not scared anymore. For a moment he is just filled with love.

He takes Crowley to bed, even if he can't be sure how he did it. Gets him to rest upon the covers and leaves to find an blanket. Would have taken of his shoes if he hadn't done it hours ago. By the time he is back he fills lightheaded, and knows he couldn't make his way back home even if he wanted. He doesn't want to.

That night is the first night Aziraphale sleeps in the garden. It's also the first time they get to live through a hungover in the garden. 

The garden itself thinks it's hilarious.

▼○▼○▼

Crowley's new interest on gardening takes both of them by surprise.

The first plant Crowley brings is a Peace lily, a present from a friend he tells Aziraphale, followed by a Belladonna and an Arrowhead. 

Aziraphale assumed it wouldn't last much, so did Crowley, his interests always fleeting and changing. But surprisingly they did.

They lay in their own corner, some of them by the side of Aziraphale's shelves, some of them hiding among the stone ones.

They are beautiful, lustrous and verdant. They are well taken care of. They are yelled a lot. 

The garden is thrilled to have new company.

▼○▼○▼

They are reaching their 700s [3].

Crowley enters the garden so fast he could as well be running. It's just after lunch back in Hell [4], yet he finds Aziraphale in there as well, tidying up the books on the shelves. He's been staying more often lately.

He turns to greet Crowley just as Crowley is throwing himself on the sofa, not his throne, that's never a good signal.

As Aziraphale gets close he takes on his appearance. Sweaty and disheveled. He is wearing a pair of surprisingly not tight pants he has never seen on him before. A vermilion shirts tuck into them and half opened.

He is flushed, even if he tries to hide it by letting his head fall over the arm of the sofa, shielding his face. It does him no good, it only shows more of his neck, flushed too. Long and glistering and just begging to be kissed, Aziraphale can't help but think. He takes a deep breath. That posture can’t be good for his neck.

  
  


He turns as Aziraphale reaches his side, turning his back on him. One of the trouser legs falls along the length of his leg to show his shins and he very pointedly doesn't look.

"Well, you look awful, dear." Aziraphale says, mouth gone dry.

"Thanks." He grunts against the back of the sofa. He doesn't turn. His body is tense.

"Is everything all right, Crowley?" He asks, beginning to get worry.

"Perfectly fine." Crowley answers not fine at all. "Never been better." He sounds more angry than anything.

"Are you quite sure? Is not like you to give me your back as we speak."

He tenses even more at that, buries his face on the couch more, to a point he could not possibly be able to breathe.

Aziraphale gets truly worried then but doesn't say so. He also doesn't leave.

After a moment that turns uncomfortable Crowley sighs and faces him.

Only then he realizes he has not seen his face since he came in.

"Are you growing a mustache?" He doesn't want to laugh, but a smile sneaks on his face before he can cover it with his hand. There's glee in his voice and a spark in his eyes and all in all he would have been a terrible poker player.

Crowley groans and throws his head back in misery. In that posture Aziraphale can't see the mustache with the detail he would like to.

"It's for the ball." Crowley says staring at the ceiling.

"The ball?" Aziraphale has moved to sit on his armchair, from where he can look Crowley in the eyes, from where he can see his hair cascading, beautiful as ever. His fingers inch to touch it but he forces them still.

"The Equator Ball, for Beelzebubs 1500 birthday."

"And you need a mustache?" He is still at the edge of laughter, they both can tell. He can see a resigned smile creep on Crowley's lips too.

"Yes, yes, the traditional mustache, for the dancing."

"Oh dancing! That sounds like fun!" He claps his hands, eyes open in delight. He doesn’t realized but Crowley inhaled sharply at the gesture. "Never been to a ball before. Is that why you have come so... Flushed?" 

"Fun? Try frustrating better. The Equator traditional dancing is the worst and I've yet not tried the heels." 

Aziraphale tries not to blush at the thought of Crowley in heels, taller than he already is, dancing.

"Oh, well, maybe I could help you practice." His voice comes out perfectly even and he couldn't feel more proud.

A moment goes by as the offer sink into Crowley, followed by vivid high definition images. 

Aziraphale in just pants and a shirt. Electro music and neon lights, his eyes shining in a thousand changing colors. Aziraphale flushed, breathless, letting Crowley teach him how to properly move his hips, his bodies pressed together, his arms around him to guide him. Aziraphale laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. He laughing along. The mandatory nail pole dancing.

It's both hilarious and arousing and it leaves him too confused to answer quickly.

"Naaah, you wouldn't like it, angel." And in a attempt to escape his own imagination he asks "Wait, you’ve never been to a ball?" 

"We don't do those things in heaven." Aziraphale answers matter of factly.

"Really? Hum, seemed like the pompous shit you lot would like to pull of."

"Excuse me! we are not pompous." He says pompously. "Besides dancing is not really a Heaven thing."

"Really?" He is interested now, and he shows it by turning around and looking at Aziraphale properly.

"I don't know what the common folk get up to. But for us noble people, and on Gabriel's words, dancing is a stupid waste of time to far below us to entertain it." 

"Well, that suck" Crowley declares.

"Uhum." Aziraphale begins. He gets closer to Crowley, like he were about to confess a secret. Crowley gets closer himself and soon they are just inches apart. "Although…” He begins. “Lately I've been going to this Gentleman's club back in Danac, they do this wonderfully cheerful dance, the Gavotte, you should see it dear."

Crowley smiles ear to ear, sharp yet fond.

"How I'm only now learning about this?"

Aziraphale goes back to sit properly, looking satisfied.

"Oh, please, is hardly anything special. Just another hobby."

"Well then tell me about this hobby," Crowley replies. "hardly to tell if it's better or worse than mine without the details."

It's all it takes to get Aziraphale talking and he enjoys every second of it. It's not that often that Aziraphale decides to try new things and for as much as he tries not to show it he likes to encourage it.

"It sounds pretty ok I guess, angel. Nothing like mine. Bit too cheerful. And too much coordination involved for my taste."

"Yes, quite a bit I suppose." He agrees as he keeps explaining. "Then you have to turn, so you'll be face to face with whoever was at your right. Then you kiss, and then-"

"Ok let's do it!" Crowley is on his feet faster than it should have been possible, and it's that more than anything what makes Aziraphale laugh.

"Oh, oh no dear we'll need way more people to dance it." He says softly. "You should come with me to the club one of this days if you are so interested."

He is not so interested on kissing other people or seeing other people kissing Aziraphale. And he is definitely not that interesting on the dancing.

"Hum. I'll think about it." He says.

And he may be a bit disappointed, even if he thinks it all has turned for the better. Wasn't really thinking when he proposed it really. 

Aziraphale, for his part, blushes a little, and without looking at him says.

"There's something we can try." There's a gramophone by Crowley's throne. It has all his favourite albums and a bunch more he likes but not so deeply. And among them a couple of Aziraphale's. "I read about it some time ago and it seemed, well," He pauses and he puts on one of Crowley's. One of the slow ones Crowley has seen him listen to every now and then. "It seemed nice"

He is interested. His heart is interested. And as Aziraphale gets closer and closer, grabs his hands among his and smiles somewhat shy, his whole body is interested too.

"Here, we are supposed to hold each other" He says as he holds one of Crowley's hands and places the other on his waist. Crowley swallows."And sway together."

"Sounds a bit boring" He says when he truly wants to say something else.

"Humh" Aziraphale answer, guiding him along. 

Together, they dance.

▼○▼○▼

Uriel wields their sword with confidence in front of them, they have not lost a fight in a very long time and they know they won't today. Aziraphale knows too.

He has his sword raised above his head, ready for a strike he won't be able to make. Time stops. They circle each other slowly. 

Uriel stance is flawless, their concentration unbreakable, their eyes burning holes through Aziraphale own soul. 

He has never liked fencing, but fencing with Uriel is as much about physical strength as it's about strength of will. In those moments he fears they can truly see through him. 

It lasts only an instant, a moment of weakness that makes him glance towards his sword, but it's all Uriel needs. They move swiftly, strike with no hesitation towards, not caring over stabbing Aziraphale. He blocks it but only barely.

He is force to take a step back. His stance is strong and his grip is firm. 

Uriel strikes again. And again. And again. And each time he blocks it. And each time he takes another step back. 

Block and step. Block and step. Slowly and unyielding. The blows are brutal. Each one hurts his wrists, resonates in his bones to his very core. Each one threatens to knock him down, to have him on the floor, helpless under Uriel sword, under Uriel eyes.

It has happened before. It will happen again. 

Another strike, perfect, lethal, but this time Aziraphale doesn't block. He counterattacks. One glorious step forward and his arms complain against the alien move, but he does. He forces Uriel back and in their eyes, for an instant, there's surprise.

His stance has lost its stability, his defense flawed and Uriel takes full advantage of that. Kicks him in the shin and hits him in the chest with the back of their sword. 

All the air leaves him as he falls hard, struggling for air. Instantly there's a sword against his neck and it's weight is painful. Uriel eyes are merciesles. Then the sword retreat.

"You have not improved one bit." They say. They don't offer him a hand when he tries to scrambles to his feet.

"Oh, well, I have been quite occupied with the library not much time for practice I'm afraid." He says between labored breaths.

"Of course you have." They say and nothing else as they turn a leave. Not looking back.

Aziraphale struggles to recover his breath.

○⭓○

That same evening Aziraphale is in the garden, sitting on his armchair with a heavy blanket over his legs. He has his favourite book open on his lap, not reading it, just carefully running his hands up and down the covers. 

It was a present from Oscar, one of his dearest friends. They went out to dinner one outumm night, a bit cold for Aziraphal’s liking but the restaurant was crowded and warm, the kind of place Oscar prefered. 

They food was wonderful and so was the wine. And as they ate they told each other about their life. Aziraphale told him about his research. Oscar told him about his last conquest, about how his last book was going.

Aziraphale has always been interested on Oscar’s writing and has been, even before he realized they were friends, a strong supporter of his talent.

"This," he told him as their dessert was finished, getting a small rectangular gift from his bag and handling it to Aziraphale. "It's going to be a masterpiece. I want you to be the first one to have it."

He took it, reverently, unsure of what to say.

"I'm afraid I have nothing for you, my friend." He said quietly, apologetically.

"It's alright.” He told him and meant it. “I didn’t want anything in return.”

Still Aziraphale paid for the meal, just to clear his conscience a bit. He took him home, and Oscar told him:

"I'm glad to have you as a friend." 

The book was a beautiful present, but it's the words that made Aziraphale heart ache. And as always, with a kiss his cheek he bid him goodbye.

By the time Aziraphale stands to go back to Heaven the cocoa by his side has gotten cold.

▼○▼○▼

"Voice of an angel I'm telling you! Or not an angel, of… of something! Something powerful! Spine chilling, angel."

They are driving through the countryside at twice the recommend speed, green field after green field after yellow field and green field again. It's a beautiful sunny day, spring, and they have reservations for the theatre. 

"And the guitarist. Dexterous bastard if I ever seen one. I need to show you their last song they-"

Aziraphale has heard all that before. It seems the only thing Crowley can talk about anymore. Queen that, Freddie this. They are playing in the Bentley just this second, and Aziraphale has to agree, the songs are marvelous.

"And the one time!” He carries on. “The one time I really needed to sneak out Lingur appears out of nowhere, and I literally mean out of nowhere, angel, and traps me into that damn meeting that Just. Won’t. Fucking. End.” He is gripping the wheel with white knuckles now, his jaw so tense he is basically chewing the words as he speaks them. “By the time I got out everything was sold. Everything! Not a damn single ticket from Danac to Samil. I swear if I ever get half a chance I’m going to murder him. I’ll get him in his sleep and I’ll tell him  _ ‘This is for Queen’. _ ”

It could seem like Aziraphale is sick of it, but that's far from the truth. Farther than anything. It's so rare to see Crowley so openly enthusiastic about something. And even if it weren't, the way his eyes light up as he talks, his voice filled with excitement, his joy as he shows Aziraphale yet another new song, completely different from the ones before somehow and still so characteristically theirs. It makes Aziraphale heart do reckless things in his chest. Makes him want to do reckless things himself.

“Now, no need to come to that.”

He listens to Crowley complain, almost mourn, the missed chance to see them play. He is not someone to give up easily, but even him has to admit defeat every now and then. 

Everything booked everywhere. Not a single seat available. Not a bit of luck. 

It couldn't have worked better for Aziraphale.

○⭓○

Getting Crowley to Samil on the right date and the right time without raising suspicion shouldn't be as easy as it was, especially since Crowley himself is the one driving, but he supposes he is way less perceptive while sulking.

When he links his arm to his and takes him past one of Aziraphale's favourite restaurants, where supposedly they were going to have an early dinner, he does get a raised eyebrow. 

When he guides him towards the stadium where they both know Queen will be playing he tenses by his side but doesn't comment.

When Aziraphale stops at the end of the entrance queue, unlinks their arms, and takes two perfectly preserved tickets from his front pocket, Crowley just gapes at him. 

Then he takes his glasses off, to properly look him in the eyes. His faces goes through a wide spectrum of emotions from utter disbelief to joy and finally, love. Unshielded, boundless love. 

He can only see it for a second because the next he is being trapped into a bone crushing hug, the force of it something he was not prepared for. It makes him warm from his chest to the tip of his toes.

"Damn angel." Crowley says without letting him go. The pure excitement in his voice impossible to miss. "How did you- I can believe- You just- How." And then, releasing Aziraphale but not getting his hands from his shoulders. "How did you even know." His smile is blinding, beautiful, and Aziraphale wants nothing more than to feel it against his lips. It's also incredulous, like he really can't believe Aziraphale knew. Aziraphale wants both to laugh and cry.

"You've hardly talked about anything else, dear." He says.

"Have I? I didn't realize." He is still smiling, like Aziraphale were a dream he doesn't want to wake up from. And then immediately snaps out of it to stare at his own clothes. "Damn it! I'm not dressed for this."

Aziraphale own smile grows, both endeared and proud of himself.

"Then it's really lucky for you that there's a change of clothes in your car."

Crowley seems truly taken aback by this, and suddenly Aziraphale fears he has gone too far. Suddenly his posture is not as sure and he has to avert his eyes to the floor as he says:

"You did gave me a catwalk of what you would have wore to this"

"Did I?"

"Well, more or less, you came to me after failing to buy your ticket all dressed up whining about how I’ll  _ ‘better take a good look at this because now it’ll never see the light of the sun.’  _

He is still not looking when Crowley begins to laugh. Loud and delighted, it's that that has Aziraphale looking to him again.

Crowley's eyes are shinier than ever, open wide in mirth, like he was looking and the most wonderful creature ever created. Like he couldn't believe his luck. It makes Aziraphale breath catch in his throat. Makes him reach to his arm just because, before giving him a smaller smile and tell him:

"The queue seems to be long enough, if you hurry up I'll wait for you here." And it's all it takes to have Crowley sprinting down the road, flying over the street. 

Aziraphale laughs softly to himself and realizes, not for the first time, that he is in love.

○⭓○

It's a marvelous performance. Worth every penny he spent. 

They don't have the best seats, those were truly impossible to get, but they do have good ones. High enough they can see the whole stage, the rows of people moving and jumping and singing down there. Their combined energy electric in the air. Their voices reaching up high in the sky. 

Close enough that they can see the performance in good detail. And if the crowds energy is electric Freddie's is pure lighting. It commands them from song to song, from high to low, from left to right. It's so different from listening to him on the Bentley, so different to actually see them.

And Crowley, goodness, Crowley. He has not seen him like this in years. Completely unshielded. Singing and moving and jumping just like the rest of the crowd. Living in the moment. Feeling it just like Aziraphale can feel the drums make his heart beat.

He looks happy. His eyes shining, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his glasses forgotten and a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes permanent in his face. 

His Queen t-shirt hungs to him for dear life and his earrings jump with every movement.

He is singing along with as much passion as he has done in the Bentley before, his voice one in a million and still the most perfect thing Aziraphale has heard. He is going to be hoarse tomorrow but he knows he won't regret a thing.

_ Bohemian rhapsody _ begins and tears appear in Crowley's eyes and he sings along. It's so dramatic. And it's so stupid. He loves him so much. And how stupid it is just how much he loves him?

"MAAAAAMAAAAA UUUUUUUH" He yells and Aziraphale can't stop himself from laughing. Can't stop himself neither for reaching for his hand and holding it. Crowley looks down for a second, before he smiles at Aziraphale something softer than what he was smiling before, and turns back to the stage. His hands never untangling.

○⭓○

Songs come and go and there can’t be much left of the show, even if it seems it just started.  _ Show must go on _ gives way to  _ fat bottomed girls _ , to  _ bicycle race _ to  _ I'm in love with my car _ . And Aziraphale would have made a joke about it to Crowley, but then  _ Somebody to love _ begins to play and, oh, it's always been one of Aziraphale’s favourites. Crowley holds his hand tighter and tells him.

"I was beginning to wonder if they would play it."

"How so?" Aziraphale answers.

"It's your favourite." He answers back, turns back to the stage and holds him closer. So close they are shoulder to shoulder. So close it seems there's no space left between them.

It's not until the song it's ending that Aziraphale steps in front of Crowley, feeling braver than ever. Crowley looks back at him, not the stage, that smile still in his face happy as ever.

Somebody to love finishes and for a moment there's only silence. Only silence as Aziraphale lets go of Crowley's hand and begins to rise his towards him. Silence and he ever so slowly lets one care Crowley's left cheek, the other one moving towards the back of his neck. He leans almost imperceptibly against his hand, expression gone soft.

_ Old-fashioned lover boy _ begins to play but Aziraphale doesn't stop. Rises just the couple of centimetres he needs to finally feel Crowley smile against his. It's soft and delightful and it feels like his whole chest is going to burst, from happiness or relief it's difficult to tell. Crowley's own hand finds the back of his neck, the other his waist, and he doesn't seem annoyed at all that he is missing one of the songs. Crowley pulls him closer, as close and he can, and he opens his mouth for him when that isn't enough. 

It may never be. It's perfect. It's wet and warm and electric and it leaves them breathless. When they have to part Crowley lets his forehead fall against Aziraphale's and for a moment they just look at each other. Still holding each other tight. Then Crowley laughs, a small amazed laugh that does beautiful things to Aziraphale's heart. He laughs too. And then kiss again. And it's as good as the first time.

Aziraphale suspects it'll always be good and he is right.

They go back to sing along with the crowd. And at times they go back to kissing. And after dinner they would kiss some more.

It'll be a while before the need to kiss at all times will leave them. Until then they’ll have fun.

* * *

Crowley has always found himself... Lacking.

Well, that's not quite true. Crowley hasn't always felt lacking, nor did his family for that matter, it took some time for them to decide that. And then no long after for Crowley to.

There weren't many things Crowley was needed to do. Being an advisor was apparently not his thing, his ideas to outside the box and overcomplicated, and he has not been on a fight since he figured out how to slither out of the Arena never to be found.

He bides his time to minor things. Keeping an ear on the common folk, keeping an eye on the court whereabouts. The court of Hell was a vicious one and it was better to keep them close.

It wasn't a matter of Crowley being bad at his 'job', he has the strong suspicion he could have been more than terrible at it and his siblings wouldn't have cared much about it [5], it was a matter of how eccentric he was. 

He did things on weird, usually complicated ways. He dressed in weird clothes, liked weird things, had weird hobbies, talked in weird ways and had weird, dangerous ideas. This last one was mostly and assumption by his siblings than any sign at all given by Crowley.

He was, as it's been said, lacking. Off. Extrange. That bugged his siblings. For Beelzebub it made him someone difficult to seize, unpredictable, dangerous. For Lingur and Hastur he was an outsider and they hated outsiders, plain and simple.

The feelings of hatred of the court towards him were a balanced mix between the ones of his siblings, with a tad of fear.

If there was a time Crowley had tried to fit in, and it has been, and he has tried, very much, by the time he was informed of the date of his marriage with Aziraphale it was long gone. Only thing left in him was resentment and ill intentions.

"September, isn't that a bit... Early?" Crowley stands in the center of the Throne room, Hastur and Lingur to each of his sides, Beelzebub looming over him from their throne.

They meant to make him feel cornered and they succeeded, for as much as he didn't let it show.

"Having second thoughts already brother?" Says Lingur, his chameleon changes from green to orange in what Crowley knows means delight. Why, it's difficult for Crowley to tell.

"Second thoughts? Me? No. Marriage, sure, let’s do it, can't wait, bring it on." He is so worried to not show how much he wants to marry, stars forbid it makes Beelzebub change their mind, while also showing how much he is not not wanting it, he ends up sounding as if he doesn't want it at all. Which luckily works on his favour, even if he doesn't know. "I just don't see why the need to rush the whole ordeal. I say, let it built up, let the people get interested, give them the chance to book the day in their schedules or whatever."  _ You still have not told me why are we doing this in the first place  _ he wants to say but doesn't.

"It'll be good for the kingdom, the sooner the better." Says Beelzebub. It doesn't open up to any more discussion.

Crowley repeats the sentence three times in his head and still can't make sense to it. Can't reconcile it with Hell’s teachings.

He is about to turn and leave, even more confused than he was when he came in, when Hastur adds, impure joy in his voice.

"So don't chicken on us brother."

Not a light bulb but a fucking neon sign lights on in Crowley's head and, suddenly, everything makes sense.

○⭓○

He goes straight to Aziraphale that evening at the garden, doesn't even greet him as he falls on the side of the sofa that was not occupied at the moment.

"They want us to call off the wedding." Crowley says, matter of factly.

"What, dear?" Aziraphale answers calmy, engrossed in a book that seems to be new to his collection. And then snapping sharply out of it as he catches up. "Wait, what? why would they want that?" 

Crowley is not in the mood for explaining. Is not in the mood for anything that doesn't involve alcohol and pacing frantically around.

"Take a wild guess angel." 

It doesn't take Aziraphale long at all, he has always been so smart, realization creeps to his face in a mix of honest surprise and anger, followed instantly by overwhelming worry.

"Oh dear," he says looking Crowley straight in the eyes. "they are trying to start a war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-{25}back
> 
> 2-{Aziraphale didn't know the lyrics but that could hardly stop him.}back
> 
> 3-{thirties}back
> 
> 4-{and Heaven for that matter}back
> 
> 5-{after all Hastur was there}back


	4. Chapter 4

It's a sunny day, Saturday. 

The streets of Deloto are filled with people. From Saac to Seolab but no one fills the streets as much as the people of Heaven and Hell do. There's a feeling of expectancy in the air, an aura of bad contained hope at what this union will mean for them all. 

A thrilling feeling at thinking that maybe, just maybe, a day like this one when they can mingle with the outside world, with their so called enemies, is possible.

They all hold their breath in wait for the union that will take place in merely hours. 

So do the heirs of said kingdoms. For completely different reasons.

○⭓○

There's not been time for planning. Not when they were just weeks away from the wedding. Not when the tension is palpable and they can’t risk seeing each other.

Luckily they don't really need to.

Because their siblings plan was a great plan. A cunning plan. An elaborate trap perfectly, methodically calibrated to bring one or both of them to their downfall.

But it had a massive design flaw.

It was built upon Crowley and Aziraphale not loving each other.

○⭓○

_"And if he does marry. He'll be still manageable enough.”_

From the thousand words that could be used to describe Aziraphale, there's one most people forget. One that's easy to miss behind his nervous demeanour and polite manners. One that's as much part of his very being as his blond curls.

Immobile.

And if his siblings would have paid attention. If through the years they would have taken a moment to think, to observe. 

Every time Aziraphale was knocked down in combat.

Every time he was disregarded by the council.

Every time they pushed him down. 

If they wouldn't have looked away, they would have seen him standing up again. Widening his stand. Keeping his position. Preparing his defense.

Aziraphale was immobile in the way a river is. You may force it out of his course for a while but it always finds its way back.

○⭓○

_"He'll make a fool of himself. And us."_

Imagination. Creativity. Adaptability. 

Crowley has made a fool of himself plenty of times, often enough to be part of his own charm. Has avoided to make a fool of himself thrice as many.

For every obstacle he has found.

Every ruse his siblings tried to make him fall for.

Every plot the court of Hell tried to tangled him in. 

He has found his way out. His pride more or less bruised. But always there. Always in one piece.

If his siblings would have cared to see the success behind his failures. At the jumps behind a bad fall, they may have been ready. They weren't.

Crowley was relentless in the way water will fall from between your fingers as you try to hold it.

○⭓○

There's no time to plan. But there has been time to talk. Along the years. Time to wonder about the what ifs that they never thought they would get. 

And now that they will. They know what to do. And they know, once all is done, they'll have to be ready.

  
  


It's merely moments before the ceremony.

Aziraphale has been in this room for hours already. Way before any guest and way before it was necessary for him to be. 

It’s a cream colored room. Not unpleasant to be in, neither grandiloquent. Not place you would expect a prince to be waiting in, but that's alright, Aziraphale much prefers small cozy places like this.

There's nothing especial in the room and no one aside himself.

It would have been an insult. Aziraphale knows is meant as that. To be left alone on his wedding day, no one to dress him up, no one to assist him.

400 years ago it would have filled his heart with sorrow. Would have made him doubt his worth. Would have made him uneasy. 

Now he can only be glad for the quiet.

Now he is going to marry Crowley, his dearest, and there's nothing that could make Aziraphale heart stop dancing around in his chest.

He fixes his suit in front of the mirror, in his favourite neutral colors. He had to put his foot down when it came to it. It may have shocked his siblings a little, but if anything they assumed it to be pre-wedding nerves. 

He is going to be called any time now, to walk side by side with Crowley down the aisle. 

His hands are trembling.

He looks gorgeous. His shoes just polished. His hair untamed as ever.

The veil, the only piece of clothing he'll need help getting on, neatly folded over a chair. The thing has been made of silver thread and diamond dust, thrice as tall as Aziraphale himself and twice as wide, it's expected to be quite the sight.

He smiles to himself in the mirror. And little wavy smile that says _"You can do this. You look stunning. You won't be doing this alone."_

Then someone Knocks on the door. 

Then Gabriel comes in.

He is smiling broadly. Walking into the room like it were his.

He stands by Aziraphale’s side, a couple of feet behind. The moment they make eye contact through the mirror Aziraphale can feel the hair at his nape stand. He is looking down at him with disdain, soon turned satisfaction as he sees his hands shake.

He does not comment on it.

"Well Aziraphale," Gabriel begins, as cheerful as he can be. "I wasn't so sure about the fitting but I have to say the taylor has done a remarkable job." 

"Well, thank you, Gabriel." Aziraphale says, turning with a polite smile.

"Never underestimate the power of a girdle, am I right." 

"It's time already?" Aziraphale chooses not to answer to that. There's no shame on how he is and therefore feels no one.

"Oh, no, not quite." Gabriel waves off. "There's been some trouble with the seating, way more empty chairs than we predicted. We are moving people to the front to make the room look less empty." He finishes with a smile that's all teeth and no good wishes.

"Oh, I see." That deflates Aziraphale a bit but not for the reason Gabriel may be thinking of. Crowley has always loved to have an audience, he is going to be a bit disappointed.

"Well, it was to be expected, wasn't it. Common folk don't see much of you, buried on your library as you always are. And as for your _fiance_." He says with mockery. "He doesn't really linger to the popular side. Not really the union of the century." And then quickly adds. "From the common folk point of view, of course."

"Of course." Says Aziraphale, that doesn't care much about what people think of his and Crowley's union, the most important event in all history in his opinion, but knows Crowley does.

He fights very hard the need to go call for him. Just to make sure he is all right. 

To the outside eye, it may have look like second doubts. It couldn't have worked better for Aziraphale.

"Well, I'll see a maid is sent to help you with the veil." Gabriel says as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful confection don't you think? Uriel really outdid themselves with the suggestion, it could make a pig look dashing." 

He is out of the room before Aziraphale can answer to that, which is good because he is not sure what the answer would have been.

No long after there's a knock and a very reserved, very polite maid comes help him dress. 

Before showing him outside she tells him how handsome he looks and how excited the guests are.

He makes sure to remember the face of such a kind person.

▼○▼○▼

It's a large church. But is not a massive one. Not the kind kings-to-be should be expected to marry. Not the kind that should be big enough to hold all the people that would certainly want to see a royal wedding. 

But they didn't need it to be. 

The stone walls watch them both walk out their dressing rooms, each at one end of the transept. Neither of them has someone to walk them. 

In different circumstances. Where this wedding is taking place in a completely different place [1] . Not in September but May probably, maybe June. There’s someone on each their sides. Jane would walk him, or maybe Oscar. Or maybe both, if he found he couldn’t choose. Crowley would probably go with Marilyn. 

But they are where they are, and where they are they are alone.

They are made to wait. A moment designed to put them on edge, to encourage them to flee.

The crowd stares at them, impassive. Their faces familiar but not friendly.

But the doors are still open. Another push to encourage them to run. And outside there’s noise, the chit chat of people coming closer. 

Against all their siblings calculations, people begins to come in.

Unfamiliar faces for the nobles, but is not for them that they are coming. With their hand written invitations and gifts.

That’s the first clue their siblings get that something is not as it seems.

He recognises Leonardo pick a seat on Crowley's side, Gatsby and Marilyn and Sappho. Jane sits on Aziraphale's side. Shakespeare, in front if her. Oscar by her side, and unsurprisingly his plush one has turned into a plush 6. Surprisingly those plush 6 are the whole Queen band and friends. 

And more, many more people. Friends, confidants and acquaintances. All smiling at them. All there to finally see them join. They warm Crowley's and Aziraphale's heart.

If some of them were surprised by their title they were careful not to show.

From somewhere an organ begins to play, harps accompanying it. The midday sun shines through the colored windows and fills each corner with color. 

The first step Aziraphale takes is unestady, but he couldn't care any less. Not when he can’t barely breathe, bewitched as he is by Crowley.

Goodness Crowley, he must have chosen the gown himself, Aziraphale knows he has. 

Silk lapels and white ruffled sleeves. Black tuxedo jacket hugging his so tightly he would have wondered how could he move his arms if he wouldn't have seen him dance in even tighter outfits.

Black ball skirt curling around his legs like fog.

Red bowtie to match Aziraphale's tartan one. 

Aziraphale can't stop himself from smiling at that. Crowley adjusts his bowtie and mirrors his smile, titling his head in that particular way of his.

They reach each other.

The music quiets.

For a moment is like time has stopped, aware maybe of the turning point that was about to take place. Or maybe is just them, Crowley and Aziraphale, freezing time at their will, just to steal a couple more of seconds with each other over the billions they'll be able to share. Over the billions they have already shared.

It'll never be enough. 

Aziraphale hands tremble again, beg him to take a step forward and hold the man in front of him. Crowley is fingering too, bouncing discreetly from foot to foot, his shoes covered by the skirt but Aziraphale doesn't need to see. He knows Crowley. 

His siblings are watching them. 

The priest begins to talk, solemnly and slowly. It felt like the air left her lungs dustier than it came in. 

"Today, we join to witness the most sacreds of bonds." She began. Aziraphale was sure he should be listening, would hate to miss his cue. But the blood in his veins feels like electricity and his heartbeat is deafening. Breathing turns into a task and so does standing. Is both the worst and best feeling he has ever felt, and he can't wait for it to be over and never end.

It's been minutes now, he can feel them ticking away, his mind is clear and he is unstoppable.

"Aziraphale, The Youngest, heir to the throne of Heaven, will you take Crowley's hand in sacred marriage? Will you guide him through the uncertain path that is life? Will you let yourself be guided in turn? Will you stand, Aziraphale, by his side in strength and weaknesses? Will you choose him, over everything else that is there to choose?" 

There's strength in those words, hard as stone, a promise, a pledge, _an Oath._ The Oath he truly wants to make. That he made long ago and should have done way longer. 

"Actually," He begins. The crew gasps.

"There he goes." Mouths Gabriel with the most sincerely pleased smile he can muster [2] .

Aziraphale stands tall where he is. Immobile as ever. Crowley doesn't smile at him, but he arches a eyebrow, so he could as well have. His hands are not trembling, nor is his voice when he speaks. Firmly and resolutely. "I have written my own." 

Gabriel smile freezes, his whole body going rigid. Michael eyes go wide and then narrow.

The heirs of Hell look at each other. There's no such a thing as personal vows, not on arranged marriages. They would feel sorry for the poor bastard if they had just a drop of empathy in them. 

Crowley will be running down the aisle before he is even half way through them. There's a reason the door has been left open.

"Prince Crowley of the kingdom of Hell, youngest heir to the throne. My dear," he begins. It feels so easy to say. To keep talking. He has been preparing this words for weeks. Has been growing them in his heart for way longer.

Like the first breath after being underwater, there's no description of the relief he feels, for the way it makes him lightheaded, for the smile it rips out of him. In this moment his heart is on his sleeve, his words his only companions and everything is alright.

"-I love you, Anthony Janthony Crowley, most ardently. Will you give me the privilege to show you each day for the rest of our lives?"

Silence falls after that, thick and heavy like a wet backlet, like a foggy night, like the sea when it's winter and hailing and there's nothing to see but it's infinite depths.

Aziraphale knows it's for show. He _knows_. Crowley knows that he knows. The crowd doesn't know but that's what the show is all about. 

And yet. _And yet._ We would like to get an answer already, thank you so much. If only to make the small, weak voice at the back of his head shut up already.

There's no such a thing as promises of love, not on arranged marriages. But this is no arranged marriage anymore.

The siblings hold their breath, all of them, and in a way they know. In a way they can feel something flying above their heads and wonder for how long in may have been up there. 

It doesn't matter.

Like witnesses of a car crash, if cars would have existed in either of their kingdoms, they are powerless to look away, to do something.

Crowley smiles a wicked smile, titling his head in that particular way of his, and for a moment hope alights Gabriel's eyes. _"Yes"_ he thinks in desperation. _"Be merciless, be cruel, be everything you are supposed to be."_ Beelzebub knows they are doomed before Crowley even takes his glasses off.

The look he directs towards Aziraphale is one of pure adoration. Of fondness and happiness barely contained. 

It shocks part of the crew. It doesn't shock the other. It specially doesn't shock Aziraphale, who has been at the receiving end of that look on many important and unimportant occasions. "Angle," Crowley begins to say. He is not a man of words. Words are Aziraphale's and he'll give all of his gladly if he only knew how. "I love you."

"Fucking-!" Both Gabriel and Hastur say, but is as they would have said nothing as it gets swallowed by the roar of the crowd, cheers that fill the church all the way to its high ceilings, that runs out the open door and warns the rest of the town. There's going to be peace.

Lingur has his head in his hands, and Michael has gone rigid, her nails leaving marks on the wooden seats. Uriel may have had an aneurysm.

"Crowley" Lingur says between clenched teeth just as Beelzebub lets go of a very deep, very strongly felt _fuck_.

Aziraphale smiles back at Crowley, bright as a sunny afternoon, then down to the floor then back at him again. A more coy, yet no less adoring, look in his eyes.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Crowley says as he turns to the priest. "I do, he does, are you going to marry us or what.” 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale chides, yet looks at the priest too.

For all that's worth, she marries them without any complain.

They kiss like lost souls finding their way home.

"Long life to king Crowley and king Aziraphale, of the kingdom of Heaven and Hell." The priest proclaims. There's more cheering, disbelieving in a way, delighted in most part. "May their union bring us prosperity and peace."

Aziraphale turns to his siblings, smiling, his posture pitch perfect and his head held high. He looks them in the eyes and when Crowley holds his hand he wiggles delightfully.

Crowley has a shit eating grin of his own. All teeth, mockery and gleaming eyes.

They walk down the aisle hand in hand. Side by side. And together, they step out of church.

▼○▼○▼

It was a magical day followed by a magical night. For many many reasons. 

Most important one marrying Aziraphale. No doubt about that.

Second most important he got to meet Freddie Mercury, and Brian May, and Roger Taylor, and John Deacon. And Mary Austin, and Jim Hutton, who he wasn’t sure who they were but was nice to meet anyway.

It was unexpected and nerve-wracking, but he was still running the high of _JUST GETTING MARRIED TO AZIRAPHALE_ to really freak out over it. 

He would freak out two days later late at night, and by then he and Aziraphale would have managed to get invited to one of the band parties next Saturday. 

He thought third would be finally giving his siblings the metaphorical _Fuck You_. To not only take The War from them but to have them make him king. 

That should have felt sweet. It did in a way. But when he saw the friends he made along the years. Most if not all of them making the long journey that was coming there, that specific day, to be by his side, to hug him and clap his back and congratulate on finally making it official, well. That turned to be the third most important thing. Maybe the second if he was feeling sappy.

They walked out of the church to the open field, a massive green grassland. Usually it was empty, just a nice place for people to come and sit around, have a picnic, enjoy the outdoors. That day it was filled with row after row of tables. Big and small, round and square, their siblings didn't thought they'll make it that far.

Free entrance. Free food. The whole town was there.

There was music and lights and too many people giddy with relief, drunk at the prospect of peace, maybe forever lasting.

Crowley and Aziraphale were no less. They sat in their table, not too big not too small, some of their closest friends with them and the rest close by. They were the ones that arranged the seating after all.

Their sibling were scattered around. Always surrounded by unknown people, always in seats either too big or too small for their frames. 

As the day turned night Aziraphale stood on his seat, something so unlike of him, and without raising his voice more than necessary encouraged his brother Gabriel to give a speech, it was only traditional after all.

Gabriel stood, and Gabriel spoke, but not before doubting for a second. 

It was a forced speech and no alcohol would make it seem otherwise. There were some applauses, scarce and weak.

It was glorious.

Crowley followed his example and asked the same from Beelzebub, just to be almost publicly threatened.

It was a bit more worrisome, but nothing they weren't already expecting, and nothing that could make it less hilarious.

They had cake. And they danced, a practiced dance that neither would admit they prepared in hopes if this occasion.

And when they are left finally alone, in a room that is going to be theirs for the weekend and more, as they rule form there, in the town were Heaven and Hell meet. They cry.

Aziraphale was told to be annoying for crying. Crowley to be weak. Neither of them though that about themselves anymore. And will never let anyone make them think otherwise.

  
  


The don't rule for long. They never wanted to. 

In the short years of their ruling there's tenths of assassination attempts from each one of his siblings [3]

They all fail. They see all of them coming, but all in all those were stressing years. They were glad to leave them behind.

The last kings on earth wasn't a bad title to hold.

In between murdering plots they try to bring Aziraphale’s Oath in, to frame what he is doing as treason. 

Luckily, as it’s already been said, Aziraphale is a very well read that knew how to choose his words wisely. 

Really difficult to prove that preserving peace is going against the greater good, specially to the eyes of citizens that are beginning to see that there’s more to the world than what they were ever taught. Than what they ever thought.

They dismantled the council. And the court. And that alone took many many years. 

They changed the law, they changed the social and political structure of both Heaven and Hell, each on their own way but both with the same clear goal in mind. Bring the power back to the people, even if they weren't yet so eager to hold it. 

There were criticism. There were fear. There were astonishment as the outside world was allowed to creep inside Heaven and Hell, and slowly, ever so slowly, the people got a chance to see the rest of the world.

And it was that, in the end, what saved them. What made their efforts take hold, as the people saw there was a different way of living, and began to want some of those things too.

They took the power. After years of offering and even more years of helping form a new strong political structure. To make sure the most basic institutions any nation should have were set in place. 

The people took it and with that the Unitary Parliamentary Republic of Heaven and the Directorial Republic of Hell were born.

They killed their kingdoms, and from their dying corpses something better was born.

What happened to their siblings is something they had not much care about. They were smart enough to accept a lost battle when faced with one.

And so Crowley and Aziraphale left, to where is difficult to tell, they seemed to pop up wherever they please. But they seem happy. And they seem to have each other. 

So really, what does it matter where they are?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1-{they never managed to agree on where}back
> 
> 2-{with him being him is not much.}back
> 
> 3-{except from Gabriel, who really wanted to try but is incapable of going against the law and hasn't found yet a loophole that would allow him to.}back
> 
> Well, this is the last chapter, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :D
> 
> As I have said before comments and kudos are always lovely to recive <3

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is a bit short and slow because it's mostly worldboulding, but get ready to see kid Crowley and kid Aziraphale in the next one :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are always lovely <3
> 
> [1]-{They didn’t even liked to be called kingdoms} back
> 
> [2]-{which is hardly twice the life span of your average healthy person} back
> 
> [3]-{paired with a bunch of unimportant ones that their flies were helping him out with} back
> 
> [4]-|the rulers| back
> 
> [5]-|the ppl| back
> 
> [6]-{All of them stand firm and straight but they are the only one that does it painfully} back
> 
> [7]-{the one he himself had thought and was very proud of} back
> 
> [8]-{Used to be a kingdom at the time. Now is a Unitary parliamentary republic and very happy about it. It's still a bit embarrassed about its kingdom fase.} back
> 
> [9]-{Who have not been invented yet in this world}. back
> 
> [10]-{a vicious one} back
> 
> [11]-{either by chance or by careful planning} back


End file.
